


The Other Prince

by alwaysbeenapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysbeenapirate/pseuds/alwaysbeenapirate
Summary: Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general's daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the 'other' prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.





	1. Killian - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, here we are! I'm so excited to be FINALLY writing this story. It's been in my head and in the works for a while now so it's about bloody time I start posting it. Keep in mind that this is a modern royal AU that's got a Prince Harry type version of Killian (who I'm kind of in love with already). There's going to be a lot of feels and angst headed your way with this story, but it's going to be a fun ride. Also, I'm not British at all so it's possible I've taken a creative liberty or two here and I apologize if it's totally wrong. Anyway, here's chapter one and enjoy! Next update to follow soon :)

"You've truly outdone yourself this time, little brother," Liam grumbled, a soft curse under his breath before throwing a sideways glare. "Above and _bloody_ beyond."

A roll of his tired eyes before lowering his sunglasses was the only response Killian could muster at an early hour like this on a Saturday. Aside from the harsh sunlight battling the tinted windows of the black SUV, the hazy state of his brain had certainly left him in no mood for a lecture or an honor inspired chat - especially one that was _clearly_ about to be riddled with rather specific vocabulary and those well known accusations he truly couldn't care less about.

Well, at least that's how he was planning on stubbornly playing this.

"Been fighting cameras and reporters all morning," Liam continued, silencing his cellphone as the vehicle rounded the corner of a palace surface road. "It's an absolute royal _mess_ , Killian."

 _There_ it was - irony intended or not. It was that _single_ word he'd been smacked with a thousand times over.

Royal. Royal, royal, _royal_.

The term had labeled him - well, _them_ \- for as far back as his recollection stretched, but even after a few decades of being wrapped up in that title, Killian still found himself a little uncertain on how such a word was defined. It wasn't easy to fend off his amusement at his brother's unnoticed pun, but Killian leaned back against the leather seat and considered the approaching speech he'd heard _so_ many times over the course of his privileged life. _Talk about a king complex,_ he thought as he watched Liam type out some sort of message with _very_ obvious irritation.

He'd decided some time ago that perhaps the word itself was subjective and flexible - more a way to categorize what he _was_ rather than who he had to be. Lord knows between bar fights, a few questionable dalliances, and a slight scandal or two, he'd spent his fair share of time being _much_ less than regal. It had been explained to him once or twice in his youth and a few more disciplinary times since then, but he always went back to what his mother had once told him.

_Everyone looks to us to be the example - the family who will set the path for others. You and your brother will be heroes to the people one day, Killian._

Killian exhaled hard at the memory, the thought calling forth old demons he never and still did not want to confront. He had decided long ago that heroics were another one of those things he didn't have plans to explore. The one term he did have a _very_ good understanding of in all of this was 'brother' - especially since his own had slammed the car door behind him the instant the ignition shut off and was currently storming angrily into one of the concealed doors at the palace's back entrance.

Oh, _bloody_ hell. This was definitely _not_ going to be as fun as the previous night was.

It was only once he started plodding up the cobblestone steps in pursuit of his irate older sibling that Killian realized he wasn't exactly sure _how_ entertaining his evening truly had been. It had started easy enough - ducking out of the palace around eight when the watchful eye of his brother was finally occupied with a lofty stack of foreign documents and catching a cab to the corner pub under the cover of a red baseball cap with a well worn leather jacket. He'd met up with a few longtime comrades - his struggling author friend August and a libatious rugby teammate named Will Scarlet - but between the several raucous games of pool, the numerous shots of rum, and some drunken argument with god knows who ending in broken glass, the night had fallen into a bit of a blur.

It was one he was still trying to sort out when a slightly disguised Liam arrived to pick him up from the private holding station and one he'd still yet to fully remember as he stumbled into the grand palace hallway, doing his damndest to follow close on his brother's heels.

Well, at least _that_ much hadn't changed.

"This is truly unbelievable," Liam grumbled, swinging the door open and not bothering to watch as Killian caught it just in time. "I can't believe you would be _so_ ….I just…. _dammit_ , Killian - I didn't even know you went out last night!"

Of _course_ he hadn't noticed. Liam had been predictably consumed in tasks he'd one day be obligated to the moment dinner was cleared from the dining hall - studying every ordinance existing in England, scheduling a few upcoming event appearances, and conferencing with a few higher ups from the naval base near Portsmouth. It was all part of that fated job description that came with a prestigious reign and Killian had given up on involving himself it that sort of work long ago. It wasn't about him though - the job or the prestige. It would _always_ be Liam - he, thankfully, wouldn't ever be _that_ forcefully committed to their bloodline.

"Oh _please_ , Liam," Killian scoffed, flopping down onto the couch in the room that was once his father's study. "It was _one_ rough night - just a little mishap. It's not like I burned down Buckingham."

"Killian, you were nearly _arrested_ ," Liam argued, crossing his arms in annoyance after throwing his dark jacket onto the ornate armchair at his side. "Drunk and disorderly conduct isn't exactly something I can spin to our advantage. You're damn lucky there aren't any formal charges being filed. I thought we were past this, brother. You promised me you wouldn't let this happen after the last time and now-"

Killian cringed as Liam appeared to draw a rather impulsive conclusion about the tavern scuffle that led to their current argument. He didn't bother telling him just how wrong he was - how this time was _nothing_ like the dozen of other times he'd had a few years earlier. He'd spent many nights in his early adulthood naivety, testing the bounds of his alcohol tolerance as well as the flexibility of the law. He'd learned quickly that his anger tended to spiral when he drank, often leading to bar fights much like the one he'd recently participated in. The difference was that those tended to be trivial - an argument over an Arsenal loss or bickering over a billiards game that escalated for no reason other than a loss of sobriety. Killian knew the night before wasn't like that. Sure, he'd been relatively tipsy, but he hadn't been belligerent.

He'd been defensive. He'd been standing up for his country. Though he'd done so in a more physical fashion than was preferred, he'd still been the supporter of the crown that Liam was constantly prodding him to be, but none of that was applicable by the time his exasperated brother walked into the station. It didn't matter - so Killian didn't say anything in refute. Instead, he did what he usually did in such circumstances.

He put on his best sarcastically arrogant act and pretended he didn't care. He'd gotten extraordinarily good at that over the years they'd been doing this.

"Ah, _ah_ \- I said I'd _try_ ," Killian cut in with an unnecessarily nonchalant smirk, fighting back with blatant cynicism. "Don't put words in my mouth, your _highness_."

"Oh, _don't_ start with that," Liam said through gritted teeth, perhaps aware of the game they'd started playing. "You are just as royal as I am, Killian."

He wasn't wrong. They'd been groomed as inheritors of the throne since they were young boys bounding through the halls of the palace with plastic swords, trying like mad to avoid the wrath of whatever groundskeepers were manning the courtyard on any given day. They'd been the perfect picture of brotherhood, a couple of adventurous kids who'd eventually grow up to wear their titles with honor and every ounce of good form a representative of their esteemed family should possess.

Yes, _they_ were royalty and this glorified place was home whether he liked it or not. They were meant to rule and even if he was his father's second son, Killian knew that his expected place was next to his older brother - the right hand man of the future king and the spare to the _always_ adored heir.

It hadn't taken long for a devastating tragedy, those few misguided mistakes in his twenties, and years of running from the aftermath to change how willing he was to conform to that. He let his aching head lean back against the cushions of the lavish couch while he longed for some aspirin and silently thanked some higher power that the memories at hand were far behind - at least in terms of time anyway. He sighed lightly as a sense of exhaustion overcame him, throwing his arm up over his eyes to block out the unwanted daylight now covering the royal grounds - the homestead of a different sort of superiority. Killian resigned quickly that the brief flash of humanity and gratitude he did have lingering in his bones wasn't toward any regality or his older brother who was currently in line to acquire a more esteemed title.

No, the day he'd show his utmost appreciation for the crown was the day he'd be released from its presence - and if the always incessant paparazzi he'd seen outside the gates that morning was any indication, a day resembling the one he was pining for was sure as hell _not_ on any foreseeable royal agenda.

"You can't keep acting this way, Killian," Liam finally said, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "Not with the reporters so interested in the happenings around here and what with the memorial gala coming up-"

"Bloody _hell_ , brother," he groaned with a quick glare. "You do know that scolding me like a schoolboy doesn't fall within _your_ jurisdiction just yet, right?"

"You're right," Liam snapped. "Maybe I _should_ leave the reprimanding to the queen-"

"Actually, _Granny_ \- as you so lovingly did _not_ put it - won't be returning from Canada for another three days," Killian reminded him. "We both know without my willful assistance in navigating the Internet, she's probably not going to catch wind of any of this until she's back and it'll be old news by then. No harm, no foul."

"I'd hardly categorize two broken windows at that bar and your currently split open lip in such a way, but _hey_ \- that's just me," Liam retorted stubbornly. "Seems morals are up for debate this morning."

"Well, now that you mention it-"

"Alright, _enough_ \- just shut up and listen to me," Liam growled, tossing a copy of some tabloid onto the coffee table - one Killian was thankfully _not_ on the cover of. "You're lucky we've been able to keep it somewhat quiet this time. I've had Leroy playing damage control all morning with the press and with the meeting we are supposed to have today, I've yet to even _dare_ bring it up with Dad or-"

"I'm sure she's got _plenty_ keeping her charitably occupied, brother," Killian returned, knowing quickly that their exasperating stepmother was now the topic of conversation. "Doesn't she have some benefit coming up this week? Saving the homeless or the elephants or maybe just the world in general? I'm sure it's one of those. Plus, I'll remind you once again that she is _not_ our mother, Liam."

Watching his brother's body tense at the underhanded retort, Killian felt his blood start the slow process of boiling. They'd had plenty of talks and even more yelling matches about their father's new wife since that wedding day and while Liam maintained that consistent respect was the expectation, Killian had decided long ago that he didn't owe _that_ woman a damn thing.

She would _never_ be his mother. He'd lost the privilege of such a figure in his life long ago.

" _Don't_ get cheeky, you git," Liam snipped, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. "You know damn well father's going to want to know what's going on-"

"With being married to that woman, I'm _sure_ \- if he were feeling well - he'd prefer to be out drinking and having a little fun all night too," Killian glared, holding up two crossed fingers. "Though hopefully he'd avoid the unfortunate run in with authorities. For the sake of the crown and all that."

" _Killian_ …."

He'd heard his name muttered and mumbled in that particular tone of warning far too often over the years, more recently by Liam than anyone else. It was that deep, authoritative type of voice that sought to remind him of his place in line and in life - the one that constantly laid out a royal boundary he was reminded to follow. Expectations, however, had ceased to be his area of expertise as time went on - mostly by choice and a realization that he'd never truly reach the set bar. It wasn't like he cared about that anyway.

Well, at least not anymore.

There was truly no point in changing now. His ways were his own - and the public was welcome to interpret them however the bloody hell they wanted to. He supposed it was the advantage of being the 'other' prince. His shortcomings and questionable behavior over the past several years made for great stories that only made his brother look better. It wasn't wrong on all accounts - it was almost like fulfilling his own sort of 'royal duty'.

"I don't get why you have it in your head that I've got to act all high moral and mighty, just because the world is watching," Killian groaned. "I'm not you, Liam."

"But you _are_ a prince, brother - and I know you don't care, but the rest of the world does," Liam exhaled, turning toward the door. "So go take a shower and please start acting like it. I need you to be en route by ten and you can't be showing up looking like you do right now."

"You're sure about that? It might make for entertaining small talk, much better than us discussing dad's dwindling health or-"

Using the stress of their father's illness was a low road to take and he realized it immediately, but it wasn't like they hadn't been here before - two brothers locked in a stubborn fight that could last long enough to make them miss brunch altogether. Pain flashed across Liam's face and Killian tried to shove the aching guilt he now felt over his anxiously chosen cheap shot at the man who'd been the only parent they had for nearing two decades.

"Killian," Liam finally said, his abrupt tone signaling the end of Killian's prodding banter for now. " _Please_."

Standing in the doorway, Killian watched his brother's regal stance slump slightly as he let the defeat of the morning overcome him for a moment. He looked tired and quite irritated, but even more than that, he seemed….disappointed. Killian felt a mix of shame and spite shift in his bones as he realized just how much he'd screwed up.

Like _hell_ if he'd admit it though. No, Liam didn't get to win this one - that wasn't on the daily itinerary.

"Look, little brother, _just_ -"

"Call for a car, Liam. I'll be ready by nine-" he snapped as he rose to his feet. "-and it's 'younger' brother, your _highness_."

###### 

The daylight was still annoyingly blinding by the time Killian summoned the energy to walk across the large gravel pathway to his less than humble abode. The small apartment style cottage was a short distance from the main palace but still part of the original royal structure. It had once been a temporary home to Liam, but once an imminent future of ruling the people started inching closer, he'd opted to take up residence in more central quarters. His older brother's choice to move had occurred just in time for Killian to secure the place as his own upon returning home from his second tour of serving the country rather than just the crown.

He'd spent almost ten years in uniform, working on training missions and enduring warfare far away from the watchful eye of the royals. Spending a deployment and a half in the desert of Afghanistan had been an honor he had never anticipated he would feel so proud of, but he had right up until the day he'd been pulled off the front lines when the media decided to reveal his whereabouts. He couldn't blame the military for their nervous decision - they were under orders to protect him probably even more so than themselves. He'd still felt slighted when he'd been reassigned to a naval base in Canada, trading his Captain status for a safer staff officer role where he'd spent a few years training Apache helicopter pilots like he'd once been. The decision to end that endeavor was one made without his full consent, but he'd abided by it and returned home with what he hoped was a stronger sense of understanding - even though he was still trying to comprehend why he'd been removed from the one career he knew would bring him success. A few dark months followed and in an attempt to move on, he'd helped field a charity centered around healing injured and disabled veterans through various sporting events and more friendly competition. It was something - definitely _not_ enough, but still something.

To say he'd been happy to call a quiet corner of the palace grounds his new home after memories of sleeping on a very sandy cot and enduring the sounds of distant battle was a blatant understatement.

The little cottage itself wasn't much - two large bedrooms with a single smaller one, a remodeled kitchen, and a small walled off garden patio that provided more privacy than most places within the royal bounds. The majority of the structure was original and seeped in history from the weathered cobblestone path to the hardwood flooring. It didn't hold ground against the few pied-a-terres he had gained right to by way of lineage and it didn't come close to the regal housing his father had moved into a year or so after he'd become a widower, but for now, he could label it as a tentative home.

Hopefully _quite_ tentative with any luck.

There'd been a few adjustments made over the years by past palace inhabitants - though there was still some rather awful carpeting in one room as well as a leaky faucet in the bathroom - but the several improvements were things Killian couldn't find himself at odds with when he noticed how the fresh paint and simplistic landscaping Liam lobbied for made the place feel comfortable. His brother truly had a way with that - that smooth, charming, genuine way of conversing that could convince almost anyone of nearly anything.

He'd surely gotten that from their mother, along with many other qualities that would guide him well as a leader of their country one day.

Shoving open the front door then slamming it lazily, Killian found himself pleasantly immersed in the silence of the house. He sighed softly as he tossed his jacket onto one of the plush armchairs before heading toward the bathroom with a slight stumble. Lifting a lifeless hand to scratch behind his ear, he made a distracted turn up the short hallway toward what would have to be a very quick and _very_ cold shower as he started dreading the upcoming day.

As if a monster hangover _and_ some simmering embarrassment weren't enough.

Shifting the shower nozzle to the right, Killian took a deep breath as steam filled the room and his senses. Turning his tired eyes toward the mirror, he decided it best to venture a look before the small room fogged up - though avoiding the reflection that should appear contrite would have likely been wiser.

He could hear the pitter patter of warm water on the tile floor just behind the glass door, but it was the mirror staring back at him that earned his attention. God, he looked _terrible_. Tilting his head to the side, he examined the dark circles beneath his deep cobalt eyes before allowing his vision to focus on the cut marring his lower lip. He'd taken a pretty square hit there from some drunk sod that Will had surely been goading, but Killian allowed himself an ounce of pride knowing he'd given as good as he got. If Liam wasn't currently so angry with him, he might have been proud to see that he'd held his own ground and perhaps even that of the royal family - though remembering exactly how the tavern drunk had been insulting the crown wasn't something he was capable of at the moment.

Pressing his fingertips to the scruff coming in thick on his face, he considered giving it a trim. With the Queen on tour across the pond, he'd be able to avoid her lovable scolding regarding his beard and the recollection of how she'd rolled her eyes at his claim that shaving wasn't his strong suite made Killian smile briefly. The idea of navigating a razor in his current frame of mind quickly put a halt to his pondering and he tilted his head to the opposite side to reminisce the scar that was proof of the damage a sharp object in unskilled hands could cause.

 _Damn_ Liam and his fencing skills - beginner's luck was definitely _not_ something his regal older sibling had inherited.

Despite his exhausted and slightly broken appearance, Killian admitted silently just how much he _didn't_ look like the man they were about to pay a visit to - well, at least not as much as his older brother did. Aside from the dark hair, Killian was more aligned with his mother's side of the family. His features were noticeably distinguished from his brother's on a few levels and the differences had been the source of a nasty fidelity rumor or two over the course of his life. He supposed such opinions probably still flew from time to time, especially since the scruff on his face grew in now with a few flecks of that rather random Irish red. Liam, however, was their father's son right down to his square jaw and wavy hair - though they'd both taken on the one physical quality from their mother that people had always admired.

_My two blue eyed boys - the most handsome princes in the land._

It was during these all too quiet and conflicted moments that he found himself recalling that day he'd lost so much - the day his family and life as he knew it was severed into a thousand little pieces. He'd been standing in a position similar to the one he held now, but at the much younger age of roughly thirteen with his brother knocking loudly on the closed door. They'd been battling the space of these exact quarters all morning, each of them trying to look like the young royals their mother often saw them as. She'd be returning from a service visit to Africa - one she'd agreed to venture out on alone when her husband had come down with pneumonia - in a matter of a couple hours and despite the rain pounding the soaked ground outside, such an anticipated reunion would be a bright event for all of them. The busy morning had been a rushed effort for Killian, the act of smoothing down khaki pants while struggling with a striped tie becoming quite frustrating when the tragic call came in - the one that haunted him in a way unmatched by anything else.

He remembered trying his best - or perhaps worst - to tame the wild mess of almost black hair his mother loved to ruffle with her caring hand while staring into this same mirror. The fragile glass was chipped in the top corner from the time Liam had fidgeted with his first set of cufflinks and one had flipped upward a little too hard at the reflective surface. Killian recalled the way his mouth as well as Liam's had hung open in panic for the few moments leading up to their mother's amused and very genuine laugh. They'd feared she might be mad, but as she examined the tiny accident, she reassured them of that unconditional love she possessed - even when 'careful' _wasn't_ a way to describe her eldest son's action.

_It's okay, Liam. If anything, it will sure make for an interesting story one day._

It was the painful breaking news paired with an urgent phone call that made for a story Killian had never _dreamed_ of hearing.

She was _gone_ \- the adored Princess Katherine of Wales killed tragically in a car accident just several streets from the palace gates.

Shaking his head quickly, Killian tried not to let the remembered news announcements from that day ring too loudly in his ears. He needed his head clear before they left for the palace and pondering the loving woman he'd probably always miss wasn't the way to achieve such a task. He tugged off his rumpled shirt one shoulder at a time after fumbling over the buttons, the black and gray flannel wrinkled beneath his touch as he tossed it to the floor. Flipping open the button on his jeans, the cellphone he'd tossed on the counter next to the sink sounded with a soft ding - an incessant noise that could _only_ be caused by one person.

_**Liam: The car will be there for you in half an hour. I'll send Marco with a cup of coffee. Dress palace appropriate please, even if you don't feel like it. You know it's going to be expected.** _

Rolling his tired eyes, he tossed the device quickly to the surface he'd retrieved it from before dropping his well worn denim and boxer briefs to the tile below. His brother was truly an arrogant arse sometimes. _Royal indeed,_ he thought as he stepped into the shower with a quick swing of the glass door.


	2. Emma - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the first Emma POV chapter! My knowledge of the British military isn't extensive so hopefully I didn't muck it up too bad. Enjoy and keep an eye out - the next Killian chapter will be up soon!

"So, Elsa said that you met Walsh at the banquet last night - that new pilot they just stationed in Wales, right?"

Trying to hold back a grumble, Emma pulled her latte to her lips as she glanced down toward her half empty breakfast plate. The sun had only peeked over the distant hills a few hours earlier, but she'd only been awake for a small fraction of that time - late obligatory night be damned. She should have figured this conversation was coming and in all honesty, it wasn't that surprising that her mother had chosen the soonest moment she could. Tapping her fingers on the side of the porcelain cup, Emma wondered if she'd still have an appetite to finish the rest of her eggs and whatever the daily pastry was when this little chat was over. She adored Mrs. Potts and the majority of things she'd baked or boiled in the estate's large kitchen over the past six months, but the guilty pleasure of a plain old pop tart wasn't something Emma had ever managed to shake.

One result of a normal college experience - _well_ , as normal as attending a prestigious university could be for a daughter of a largely decorated military hero. Though it helped that she'd been able to acquire her undergraduate degree in America rather than one of the countries listed beneath the crown, it didn't change the fact that there were very few circumstances in her honor shadowed life that Emma would dare label as ordinary.

"You've already been gathering intel from the Norwegians this morning I see," Emma commented, her eyebrow raised in a manner of taunting. "You could at _least_ wait until she gets back home, Mom. I'm pretty sure they weren't flying back until later today."

"Actually, Elsa informed me that Ingrid has decided to stay in England a few extra days and it was _just_ a quick chat," her mother defended cheerfully. "I wanted to make sure she's still planning on visiting next month. It's been ages since we've seen her."

It was difficult to be too annoyed at how happy her mom seemed at the prospect of hosting company, especially because Emma felt just as anxious to spend some time with a familiar face. She'd met Elsa during one of their week long stays in Europe years ago, a trip where the backdrop was all British politics and several snowy days. With the pair of them being the matching age of twelve, they'd done everything from ice skating to bookstore hopping while Emma's father sat in on multiple meetings with top dogs from the Royal Navy and Ingrid Frost, the Norwegian prime minister they'd hoped to gain as an ally - and who just so happened to _also_ be Elsa's aunt. The distance across the North Sea and Emma's constant travels didn't allow them to spend much time together over the years, but Elsa was the closest thing she had to a best friend. It had been a relief to see the girl who always had her back in attendance at whatever the hell that event was the night before, but somehow, Emma had managed to forget about her mother and Elsa's newly found friendship by phone.

God, that woman could swindle information out of _anyone_.

"I figured you'd be more interested in hearing about the event itself rather than the guest list," Emma answered after a moment, adorning her tone with a hint of sarcasm. "I _should_ know better by now, right?"

" _Hey_ now, that's not what I…."

The dark haired woman's voice trailed off and she let out a sigh, one that turned into a defeated laugh as Emma offered a sarcastic roll of her eyes. The exchange didn't hold the confirmation of total frustration much to her dismay and silence filled the space between them, the only noise coming from the rather distant railway and several playful birds circling the blossoming trees. Glancing up at their fluttering wings in distraction, Emma took a moment to wonder about or perhaps _envy_ the lives they led - freedom to fly and explore the world without much worry from anyone. It was the persistent tale of the branch dwelling sparrows that almost taunted her, their happy chattering reminding her just how different they were.

 _So lucky,_ she thought quietly. Those simple songbirds would never know how good they had it. Her mother was fairly subtle, but they'd had this conversation before and it was _anything_ but simple.

"I didn't mean to imply that you finding a love interest last night was the goal, Em. You know I don't mean to pressure you," her mother said after their mutual pause, her caring tone prodding Emma toward a little guilt. "I _just_ ….I want you to be happy, sweetie. I guess I'd hoped maybe you might have some luck with that at the banquet - proper and slightly mandatory as it was."

Emma pursed her lips, giving the woman a softer stare as she realized just how silly her defensive nature was in a moment like this. She let out a much calmer breath as the stalemate between them fractured a bit. It was the one that always lingered and reminded them both of the life she'd unintentionally fallen into despite her parents' annoying yet loving prompting. Though Emma had spent the past eight years away from her family doing everything from charity work to college courses, she'd _still_ somehow become an esteemed military man's apathetic daughter who'd all but given up on that next step in life - finding love and the man who could prove to her that such a thing still existed.

To say she was simply skeptical was an understatement - especially when she'd been handed a few reasons to be _much_ more than that.

"I know," she replied, setting her cup down as Mrs. Potts stopped by to refill it. "It wasn't too bad actually, though I did meet this Walsh guy and found out quickly how much I did _not_ want to hear about his family's dedication to the Air Force. Nothing against a war tale or two, but _wow_ …."

She felt her spirit brighten as her mother snorted unexpectedly, covering her mouth fast to conceal her obvious laughter. The cocky, overly charming pilot she was referring to _may_ have been a nice guy, but it was truly difficult to know for sure since he'd spoken of nothing but his own heroics the _entire_ night. Emma bit back her grin as she recalled Elsa rolling her eyes while mouthing 'flying monkey' just before they'd escaped to the bar for reprieve.

"Fair enough," her mother said, an amused laugh accompanying her words. "I've met his aunt and I can't say she was much different. She's been a widow for a few years I believe, but honestly, I fear for any man who ever gets involved with her - she seems like the jealous type."

"Thankfully, I didn't have the pleasure of meeting her," Emma said with an exaggerated exhale. "Green with envy though, huh?"

"That's a good way of putting it," her mother smirked as she sipped her own drink. "But I know your father appreciates you attending in his place, Emma. Hopefully he'll be back to it soon and you won't have to fill in again for a while."

Emma felt her heart sink just slightly as her mother offered a forced smile, the strength in their matching stares holding firmly even after the multiple months they'd spent talking themselves in and out of moments like this one. It had been a lengthy and terribly winding road for their family, but cliche as it was, it was a proven fact that the Nolans didn't give up.

"I didn't see him this morning," Emma noted in a questioning tone. "How was he?"

"Good enough to walk down to the stables and check in on the horses-" her mother answered, a pleased yet still concerned grin on her lips. "- _so_ not too bad it seems."

Emma let a sense of pride settle in her bones at the confirmation of the most important man - well, the _only_ man - in her complicated life mending his injured body and hopefully his spirit as well. Lord knows it had been a _long_ time coming.

"He probably wouldn't mind a visit," her mother prodded, taking the nearly empty teacup to her lips once more. "I'm sure he'll have questions and he mentioned needing to discuss something with you….though I don't know what."

Feeling her eyes narrow as she'd detected the tiny lie - or perhaps just _slight_ avoidance of the truth - Emma nodded, pulling her carefully woven sweater tighter around her arms as she rose. She wondered quietly just what sort of ask her parents had planned and pondered momentarily just how she might decline it. With a sigh, she gave up the brief thought of ditching out. _They don't deserve that_ , she reminded herself.

Her father who'd been through recovery hell and back definitely deserved his only daughter's full cooperation - or what she could muster of it anyway.

"I can check in with him real quick I guess," she conceded, letting herself revel in her mother's appreciative grin. "Though I have to say after being forced to wear that frock of a princess dress last night, the price of favors is rising _very_ quickly."

"Well, I guess it's one he'll have to pay," her mother replied with a successful nod and appreciative eyes, handing Emma a steaming silver thermos that had just been delivered to the table. "Take this to him. I wonder if he grabbed his coat on the way down there - it's not exactly warm today."

With her eyes watching the slight wind cling to the trees, she noted her mother wasn't wrong about the uncertain temperature testing the mid morning air. She shivered slightly while reminding herself that the mild weather and the chill it often brought was a small price to pay for the life they'd somehow hung onto despite the dwindling threat to it.

Maybe one day she'd be able to let go of the hesitation that still seemed to weigh on their words, but for now, she would gladly accept what she could get - even if it meant unstable weather and sporadic storms of _many_ kinds.

"I'll take it to him," Emma told her mother with a soft smile as Mrs. Potts approached, handing over the warm men's wool jacket she must have heard them discussing. "Be back soon, okay?"

The expression she received in return was a tender one full of love and utmost gratitude, a look she'd experienced quite often since returning home - or whatever this place was. With her younger brother recently starting his third year at Eton College just outside of Windsor and her mother trying to balance the household minus the help of a healthy husband, Emma knew it was pertinent that she was around to assist in these little moments. As difficult as it had been to be tossed into sudden turmoil, it hadn't taken long to settle into this life - a life she now didn't know if she actually _wanted_ to leave.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been encouraged to do so. The moment her father started making substantial progress, her mother started prompting her to look into nearby schools where she could finish up the final degree she'd been pursuing when the accident had derailed her schooling. Cambridge and Oxford weren't far and she definitely maintained the grades back in America to possibly be accepted to either. There were even a handful of closer universities that would allow her to remain nearby, but each day that she declined her mother's scholarly nudges brought Emma closer to the point of shoving her graduate studies aside altogether. She'd loved her past college experience, but seeing her father struggle with relentless pain and the new life he was being sentenced to deepened her fear of what could happen in her absence.

She couldn't risk _not_ being there. She couldn't leave with the knowledge of what might happen if she was gone.

Glancing out over the elaborate gardens as she descended down the steps belonging to the backyard veranda, Emma held tight to the the metallic thermos and her father's well worn jacket. Maybe this _place_ wasn't hers, but this new life _was_ \- and getting used to it was just another hurdle she'd have to conquer.

###### 

As the sun attempted to shine, Emma let her feet move casually, the soles of her shoes tapping the walkway with soft thuds as she glanced out across the property they'd been borrowing for a little over half a year now. It didn't seem like much time, but the months they'd spent in the rural outskirts of West Yorkshire had been more consistent than any other place she could recall. It was the constant disadvantage of a military based family always on the move - home wasn't a place but rather an illusion.

The repeated realization running through her head didn't keep Emma from glancing back at the house she'd just departed from. It truly was beautiful - an old yet updated house cloaked in historical dark bricks and surrounded by about twenty acres of equestrian property her father took full advantage of even though he _certainly_ wasn't supposed to while still hurt. The windows were thick glass and the doors were strong eighteenth century with many sagas she hoped to one day hear more about. The frontage road leading from the manor's front gate to the stables wasn't exactly short, but Emma liked the think time that stroll offered. The view was unbeatable with a small yet lively duck pond to the right and the greenest grass she'd ever known stretching beyond a distance she could fully observe.

She'd allowed herself to miss the place several times when she'd temporarily been away - something she probably shouldn't do as a Canadian born citizen who certainly didn't have the right to think of wealthy outlying England as home. She couldn't help it though and as her mother began regularly tending to flowers they'd planted in the yard, Emma started letting the concept of home creep in for a few sporadic moments a day.

It was only once she'd learned of the structure's past that she fought to pull those thoughts back in. The house she'd assumed they were renting _wasn't_ just anyone's - it was in possession of the Royal family, a place given in a kind gesture for the idolized Admiral David Nolan to rehabilitate peacefully. It was something Emma knew they should be grateful for, but accepting regal assistance had given her pride a pretentious nudge. Not being able to provide comfortable quarters for the leading man who'd always kept their family safe was frustrating, but her mother had reminded her that the circumstances weren't meant to elevate anyone's ego.

Well, not anyone's but _those_ of the monarchy - and Emma was pretty sure _they_ didn't need reminding of how generous and hospitable they continued to be to their people.

It wasn't that she had an actual issue with the royal family or the people who made up that elite group. It was more that the whole concept just seemed outdated - queens, princes, palaces, and thrones. They all seemed like things she would have fawned over as a little girl, but this was the modern real world and the whole notion of a crown controlling multiple countries just felt like something out of a fairytale storybook. It was right up there next to 'true love' on the list of make believe in her head and she tried not to let her cynicism seep through. Real life definitely _wasn't_ about happily ever after.

No, reality was about accepting that life was full of hardships and struggles - and honestly, on what level could anyone born into royalty _really_ understand that?

Reaching the downhill slope toward the large building that housed about ten barred stalls, Emma slowed her pace a bit. The gravel under her soles was skittish - a fact she knew from experience with a very nervous and _very_ appropriately named pony called Hopper that she'd ridden exactly _once_ around the age of six. Visiting her father at the stables had become a regular thing, yes, but like hell if she'd _ever_ get back on _any_ horse.

Hearing the gentle clomping of hooves as she entered through the large open doors, she finally caught sight of him near the left wall with a heavy saddle draped over his arm as he bit his lip in concentration. Fighting the urge to rush toward him with a helping hand and a scolding word, Emma took a second to realize just how far he'd come. He was dressed in that familiar flannel shirt he'd been wearing for ages now - dark maroon with the navy blue pattern. His brown shoes seemed at ease against the concrete underfoot and she observed his motion with anxiety pulsing through her veins. Walking had only become something he could manage without help roughly a month ago, but now, he moved pretty easily and only with a slight grimace when the pain seemed to spike. Despite her gratitude for his regained ability to carry things he _probably_ shouldn't, Emma couldn't help but offer a little warning as she folded her arms in the entryway.

"You know that Mom would totally freak out if she saw you lifting that, right?"

Her father looked over his shoulder with a knowing smirk before he stumbled a bit, a slight misstep that sent Emma hurrying to his side automatically despite her taunting. Pausing as he held his hand up in refusal of her regular help, she stood back and waited to see just what he could do with his never ending stubbornness. With a quiet groan and a balancing move, he soon caught hold of the slick black bar near the top of a gate and he stationed his feet wide in a stance that was finally starting to strengthen. A few deep breaths brought him back to his usual defenses and Emma couldn't help but find joy in his returned ability to brush off her guidance.

"What your mother doesn't observe or _hear_ about won't hurt her," he replied with a wink and the paternal smile she could typically expect. "Plus, that wasn't _all_ bad. Still on my feet at least, right?"

Emma sighed in agreement, continuing to take in the details of the injured man only a few paces away. His bruises and cuts were fading as time slowly passed and the scars marring his body were now hidden beneath his familiar faded clothes. It had taken a long time - almost the entire duration of their current stay in England - for him to begin to look like himself again. It was a welcome sight and she tried to revel in the fact that he _was_ getting better. He was _healing_ \- and in turn, so could the rest of their family.

She'd been staring out the large third floor window in one of Columbia's many campus buildings, enduring the second hour of her capstone class when she'd received the call - well, nine calls that turned into several alarming voicemails. Stepping out into the hallway with the vibrating phone in her clenched hand was a recollection that now felt almost as surreal as dashing through LaGuardia to catch a red eye flight had been that terrifying evening, but walking into the military hospital just off the shores of Scotland was a memory that _still_ burned each time it crossed her thoughts.

She'd failed the class, scuffing up her college reputation not long after the course officially started. It was the only black mark on her university record and it was definitely something her father would have chided her for had he been in the condition to do so. She had done her best to shove that subtle shame aside since arriving in England to an indefinite future. Proficient grades ceased to matter the instant she promised her mother she'd be on the next flight over the vast ocean, even if the failure they represented still lingered heavily in her mind.

Family became suddenly even more important when she'd boarded the plane and holding that framework together wasn't something she'd allow to be swayed by a single moment.

That was not to say that the moment itself _hadn't_ been the most fearful one of her life - the sound of her mother's distraught voice and the matching state of their teary eyes when they finally found one another just outside of the surgery room was a thought that would never go quietly. Hearing her father had been in an accident was a risk that always came with his commitment to the Royal Navy, but being thrown into the aftermath without warning wasn't something she'd wish on her worst enemy.

"So I take it you're feeling a little better today?"

"A bit more every day," he assured her with that half hearted smile. "We'll get there eventually."

Emma tried to return his shaky certainty with a nod, but watching the heroic man before her struggle wasn't getting any easier. She knew she should be more patient - the surgeons had told her and her mother that a full recovery could take years. It wasn't a total surprise to hear such a frustrating conclusion, especially once the doctors read off the lengthy list of her father's sustained injuries - multiple left leg fractures, a strained and dislocated shoulder, a few cracked ribs, plenty of bruises paired with stitches on his chin, and a black eye that had taken weeks to disappear. All of that was caused by the initial fall, a slip up that occurred during a rainy training effort he'd been managing and then attempting to salvage. His brave actions had saved the lives of two other men who'd been caught in the stormy circumstances as he's sent them to safety and tried to secure whatever had been so goddamn important on the slippery ship deck, but that valiant effort was something she had a hard time feeling proud of as she watched him battle the triumphs and setbacks since that day. There ended up being a couple other ailments that he'd fortunately moved on from since then - the main issue being slight respiratory stress invoked by those few short moments he'd faced the possibility of drowning in the storm addled water.

That was the one thought she'd yet to find the courage to consider. There just wasn't any way the sea could have potentially stolen the man who'd taught her to swim - both literally _and_ figuratively.

"So," he said after a moment, moving to sit down on one of the closeby wooden benches. "Have you come to check up on me or offer your wrath? I heard the company in Cambridge last night wasn't the best."

"No, it wasn't," Emma laughed, taking the empty space next to him and placing the jacket on the seat at her side. "But it also wasn't the worst."

"I suppose I owe you big for that one - I've heard about a few of those favored families and guests that were set to attend," he continued, cringing dramatically with a smile. "Some woman named 'Zelena' I think? She already sounds villainous and I've never even met her."

Emma couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her, relaxation settling on her shoulders as she watched her father's cheesy sense of humor rise and fall between them. It was a relief to observe him in such spirits and as she took note of his subtle smile, it was difficult to believe that things might never return to normal.

They had to. _He_ had to.

"So," Emma started, tilting her head toward him. "Mom says you had something you wanted to ask me?"

"Oh, _well_ \- yeah," he said, surprise filling his face as he met her eyes. "I should have figured she'd put me on the spot like that."

"Yeah, you'd think you would have learned by now," Emma teased. "So what's up?"

Watching him straighten his posture and sigh heavily was oddly amusing and Emma felt her lips twitch up into a slow smirk. What _was_ he up to?

"Well, the doctors gave me the all-clear yesterday-" he divulged, hold up his hands in defense as soon as she tried to argue. "-and that doesn't mean I'm headed for enemy lines, but I do need to get back up to speed on what's going on with the crew."

"So the favor you need is for me to go tell them to keep the ships in line or whatever because you're not coming back to the base yet, _right?"_

"I happen to like the men I work with so I'm definitely not about to send _you_ to threaten them," he replied with a light chuckle, elbowing her as she glared gently. "But what I wanted to tell you is that there's a new possibility of a new small fleet of ships setting sail in a few months and I'm being briefed on the negotiations this Friday. It's a little less glamorous than being out on the water itself, but I figure that it couldn't hurt to start fresh with a new assignment. It might even be called a step up of sorts."

Emma felt relief overcome her at his explanation. Letting the recently repaired sailor back out onto the open ocean wasn't something she or her mother could fathom right now and while playing politics with the other various ranked men of the military wasn't exactly safe either, Emma knew it was much less risky for her father to wear a suit than battle the sea for the time being. It took only a moment and his sideways glance for her to realize that she'd still yet to learn what he needed her to play.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her curiosity at bay. "So you need….me to pack you a lunch? Or a ride to the base or something?"

"Not exactly, but it's good to know you're willing to do both of those things without much begging," he grinned, stretching his injured leg out and folding his arms. "Actually, your mother is going to accompany me to London for this meeting and I hoped I might be able to coerce you into joining us. Maybe make a long weekend out of it?"

"London," Emma repeated, narrowing her gaze intently. "But your briefings usually happen here or in Portsmouth, don't they? What's in London?"

"Kind of a broad question, Em," he told her with a soft chuckle. "But I think you mean 'who' rather than 'what'."

The clever expression on his face was entertaining and it was truly the first time she'd seen him look fractionally giddy since the accident. The idea of trekking to London on wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, especially because she'd heard talk on the news that morning of a large event planned at Buckingham that weekend as well. Dealing with the droves of people it would surely bring in while trying to stay otherwise occupied as her father got back to work didn't sound appealing in the least, but she couldn't help her need to know just what had him in such high spirits.

"Okay, fine," she said with an exaggerated sigh, trying to let him enjoy whatever shenanigans he was up to. "Who is in London?"

"Well, I suppose in most situations, she'd be called the boss," he offered, arching an eyebrow. "But perhaps it would be more proper to go with Her Majesty the Queen in this particular case."

Emma felt her eyes widen as she processed the answer she'd finally obtained. Sure, her father was high in the military ranks and likely in the opinions of those advising the iconic woman who represented the monarchy, but she still hadn't imagined hearing him clarify their purpose in such a way. Watching him shrug sheepishly as he begrudgingly pulled on the coat she'd brought along, the disbelief swirling in her thoughts finally settled enough for her to draw one very important conclusion.

This was obviously a hell of a promotion - and she had _zero_ idea what that meant for her.


	3. Killian - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's another Killian chapter.  A little more backstory and setting the stage for what's to come! Enjoy!

The route to the palace was a familiar one and Killian wagered little had changed since the first time a driver escorted him from Kensington to the heart of Westminster. The streets of metropolitan London were busily lined with citizens taking full advantage of the near noon bustle, scurrying along to various shops and pausing for late breakfasts at any one of the various cafes found in the downtown district. Their lives seemed casual and enviously simple, a fact that Killian tried not to harbor on as he stared out the window of the unmarked black car Liam had sent for him. It was highly likely that his dutiful brother was already well immersed in whatever task list a future king gets handed when he shows up at Her Majesty's headquarters _very_ bright and _far_ too early.

 _Such a stubborn arse,_ Killian thought as he ran a hand over his unamused eyes. It was probably for the best that the Queen was part way around the globe for now. The absence of their lovable yet all too proper Gran and the steaming cup of coffee Marco had brought along were the only two things lending him luck at the moment.

"Around to the back gate, your highness?"

"Aye," Killian nodded, glancing up toward the rear view mirror with an arched brow. "But are we ever going to agree on you calling me 'Killian'? I'd thought we were well beyond formalities by now, mate."

He caught the humored smile of the man in the driver's seat via the reflective overhead glass, accompanied with familiar eyes set in typical analysis and a beard almost all white as a reminder of just how long the loyal confidante had been chauffeuring the royal family around. Marco was a former carpenter and had come from Italy right around the time of the last elaborate royal wedding, beginning his work initially in one of the palace's many gardens on instructed maintenance and upkeep. It hadn't taken long for the flower loving and recently wed princess to prod him into an unlikely friendship, one that was built around what blossomed on royal grounds but eventually extended into a bond akin to family.

Killian had heard many tales of those simpler times from Marco on their countless drives together, his favorite including a time when building a royal crib suddenly became a request for the man who was more accustomed to being asked to pull weeds. He had told Killian so much about his mother over the years - how she lovingly bossed him around when it was time to select what to plant for spring, how she'd all but demanded that he attend _every_ holiday banquet as an esteemed guest of their family, and how he'd helped her learn bits of conversational Italian while escorting her between the regal grounds and whatever location she was destined for. It was this kindly man who'd migrated to London only a few decades earlier who had been instrumental in their lives for a number of critical years, certainly long enough to see the high points and the extremely low ones. He'd claimed teasingly several times that there were very few rides more unpleasant than the time he drove the royal couple and their second newborn baby boy - one with 'strong lungs and even stronger opinions on London traffic' - home from St. Mary's on a very snowy January morning.

Killian tried often not to think about how another more devastating trip fell into the 'very few' category. Marco had been asked to escort two young princes that sad day almost fifteen years ago to the same hospital for a very different reason - one that quickly defined tragedy for all of them. His trying wasn't usually successful and today, he quickly learned, would be no different.

"Beautiful day outside today, sir," Marco commented with a nod toward the regal building. "I trust you're planning to make the most of it?"

"Aye," Killian sighed. "Always do."

The longtime royal chauffeur was like clockwork, always refusing to drop the formalities and always offering the same simple statement as he pulled up to one of the palace's many concealed enough entrances. They were words Killian had heard for years now - mostly in a resounding reminiscence - and ones he'd always struggled to take into account, despite what he'd just told Marco.

_Make the most of every new day, my stubborn little prince._

Yes, his driver's encouragement sounded similar to something his mother would have prompted him with all that time ago, but as years went by, he started to notice that he couldn't be completely sure just what exactly she used to say. The memories were fading more as time carried on, her voice becoming softer in his lonely mind.

He dreaded that realization. He couldn't bear the idea of losing those last pieces of her - not when he still needed the comfort of his recollections the way he always had and not when the echoes of his mother were the only thing that made this place still feel like home.

"I've told Liam to let me know the schedule for the day once the morning gets all….straightened out," Marco said, clearly at a loss for the appropriately easy phrasing as he hit the unlock button. "Happy to take you home whenever you're ready, your highness. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer for me to get the door-"

"I've got it," Killian answered as he gave up the name battle and shoved the car door open. "I'll let you know when we're done. I'm guessing it won't be long at all."

The man's nod was slight as Killian rose from the leather backseat with little optimism, the gravel under his feet crunching while his eyes darted toward one of the distant gates. He grumbled a bit at the sight of lingering paparazzi and strode to the door in hopes of avoidance. The cameras flashing from beyond the barriers and a few faint calls of his name were surprisingly easy to ignore as he moved out of sight.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to face _that_ type of annoying confrontation. He would never be lucky enough to escape the _other_ sort - the kind waiting in the open entryway in the form of his sharp dressed and almost _always_ critical brother.

"Well, you're looking a little better."

Killian fought the urge to glare at him as he all but stomped inside. Despite Liam's curt and somewhat condescending tone, he knew that he had cleaned up quite nice. He'd gotten dressed in a bit of a rush after standing in his conflicted shower for far too long and he had been immediately grateful to notice that his irritatingly attentive sibling had sent over some fresh dry cleaning that morning - a navy blue button down and some well tailored jeans that were still probably pushing it as far as the royal dress code was concerned. He'd been grateful for his ability to look the part of prestigious prince despite his terribly rough evening as he hurried out the door not long earlier, his hands quickly foregoing the execution of an expected Windsor knot with the tie he'd decided not to wear.

 _Not today,_ he'd decided after a final look in the mirror before tossing the striped fabric onto his dresser. He wasn't out to impress anyone.

"Too bad the same can't be said for your mood, but I'll take what I can get," Liam taunted, nodding absently to the side. "Alright, brother, while we don't have time for-"

"I am _well_ aware of what the clock says and just how much she hates waiting, Liam," he replied sharply. "Now let's get this over with."

He'd no sooner headed for the central hallway when he caught a glimpse of her in the not too distant doorway, his brother's footsteps faltering behind his own. She was put together ostentatiously, the combination of her detailed black blouse and a deep red jeweled necklace offset only by the predatory look on her face. The sight of another woman standing where his mother should have been always made his eyes burn, but it never did change.

With a slight grimace, Killian began to move toward the woman who frankly had no business even being a part of their scheduled brunch - Cora, the deemed Duchess of his father's peerage and his consequential stepmother.

"Well, good morning, boys - _so_ wonderful to see you both," she commented firmly, a hint of venom in her stare as she alluded to her apparent eavesdropping. "We weren't sure you'd make it given the past twelve…. _very_ interesting hours."

It had always been easy to bequeath her as the villain of some lost fairytale and adding an 'evil' to her title was often far too tempting for Killian. Liam was better at turning a blind eye to the woman who'd swooped in to nurse their father's broken spirit not long after the tragic loss of his wife, but Killian had spent plenty of time cataloging the quiet damage she'd so carefully created for nearly twelve years now. With everything from the decline of his father's health to her ways of subtly devaluing everything the beloved departed princess had built, it had become almost impossible to trust her or the motives she likely had. Killian still wasn't sure how the public had learned to accept her as his mother's replacement, but she'd managed to gain respect through use of her dishonest charm and the sob story of her deceased first husband. The woman had a way with earning sympathy and it was something she'd always taken full advantage of.

There was a definitely a reason she'd been quickly deemed the Queen of Hearts by the people, but it was only the royal family that knew just how appropriate the name actually was.

"We'd never intend to miss out," Liam answered for both of them, his smile nervous as he nodded toward their father's second wife. "Apologies if we're late."

"None necessary, my dear," Cora replied as she glanced in Killian's direction. "We'll save those kinds of formalities for _other_ matters."

The words were icy as ever, but they sparked a burning fire deep within him - the kind that seemed to always simmer and then spike when he was in the presence of the woman who'd surely piss him off before the morning became afternoon. Killian tried not to meet her persistent stare as he passed by, his shoulder almost bumping hers as he walked into the large dining area where they'd shared several tense meals before.

The bright room was busy with several familiar servants who'd obviously been prepping the beautifully accented space with red linens and crystal glasses all morning. The seating was limited for this particular occasion and the dark walnut table held only a fraction of its usual gold decor and antique candlesticks. Fresh white roses had been left at the center of the wood surface and Killian noted silently that such a thing would have made his grandmother quite happy.

She always did love gifts from the palace's endless gardens - much like another royal woman once had. Watching Cora fiddle with the arrangement briefly in irritation was further proof of how drastically opposite she was of the women Killian cared greatly for and it didn't take long to surmise just how much that was about to infuriate him.

"Your father should be down soon - one of the doctors stopped by to quickly check in on him," she explained, trying to catch Killian's participating eyes. "Coffee, Killian? You….seem like you could use it."

Feeling his fingers flinch at his sides as they tried to resist the fists he was tempted to make, he ignored the warning in his brother's stare and instead met Cora's goading gaze. They'd come to secure the plans for the upcoming weekend's annual Royal Navy gala and that discussion was _not_ going to start a feud if Liam's cautioned expression was any indication.

 _Just brunch,_ Killian reminded himself as he exhaled calmly.

"Sounds great," he finally said, taking the chair closest to the door. "If it's not too much trouble."

Cora smirked conspicuously before waving over one of the workers currently waiting for orders. No, it obviously wasn't much trouble for her to take to bossing the staff around despite the lack of their fragile father's presence, but maintaining a calm facade as she did so with that dominating glare might be - and Killian could only pray that he'd be able to get out of there before the actual impending trouble evolved.

###### 

Well, he'd _tried_ \- he truly had. Convincing himself of such a conclusion wasn't holding much reassurance though as Killian strode angrily out of the first floor dining room, but he was struggling to care as he shook his head in well known frustration.

 _Damn_ that woman and her ability to push all the wrong buttons - and _damn_ his temper for being unable to tolerate it.

His slightly louder than necessary feet carried him down the long corridor that led out to the gardens, his steps purposeful and quick as his head pounded. Sure, the lingering effects of his long night had already put him in an irritable state, but fighting his mood in regards to his line crossing stepmother wasn't a recent undertaking. They'd been on hostile ground for years and the possibility of all out war seemed to always hang in the air despite the interferences of Liam or their ailing father.

Killian had little desire to exist in even the _shadow_ of the crown, but the hottest parts of hell would most certainly freeze over before he'd _ever_ let Cora wear it.

He had done his best to quell the fury in his veins throughout the course of their morning meal, trying to focus on the snippets of political this and that his brother was offering the table rather than addressing the multiple other topics waiting to be braved. It was nice to see his father in a fairly optimal state, only a dark layer of stubble covering his face and a slight cough suggesting that he'd been worse for the wear lately. Weathering more bad days as his poor condition progressed was something several doctors had told them all to prepare for, but Killian had mostly left that optimism to Liam while he tried to distract himself from Cora's judgemental expression. He'd done okay, eating enough to keep his stomach stable and sipping at a new cup of coffee as he waited for dismissal.

Unfortunately, those departing words didn't arrive before Cora decided to overstep the bounds she _still_ didn't appear to understand. The defensive retort and subsequent act of storming out may have been a bit dramatic on his part, but enduring silently while she brought up the possibility of canceling a scheduled crucial event that he and Liam had been planning for a year wasn't something he could manage. She'd innocently claimed it was in light of the unexpected attention the family had just gathered courtesy of his wild night out, but the purpose behind her cruel conversation was pretty obvious.

She _wanted_ him to react. She wanted him to be what half of London probably assumed he was - the rebellious royal son of the ailing heir apparent who _still_ couldn't keep his temper in check after years of demonstrating just that. An incoming phone call for his father announced by one of the palace staff had given Killian an out and he'd taken it with a quick rise from his chair and a final, frustrated glance at the bold woman who seemed so keen on complicating his life.

" _I know it means a lot to you both, but a memorial gala for your mother at a time like this will only give the public a chance to question the rather….inappropriate choices you're both unfortunately being judged for. I realize you've spent a lot of time arranging it, but holding a large event seems unwise to me given the attention recently shed on this family. I doubt that's what she'd want-"_

He hadn't stuck around to hear the rest, his own halting voice cutting off hers angrily before he left the room. Cora didn't know anything about his mother or what she'd want and whatever made her think she had the right to assume anything wasn't something he could confront calmly. He'd left in a huff, but it was for the best - or so he _hoped_.

The walk hadn't amounted to much by the time Killian felt his pace slow. He hadn't meant for it to, merely needing to cool his nerves and create some necessary distance after the harsh exchange. He'd just reached the side exit of the long hallway when his clumsy foot tripped quickly over a corner of one of the palace's elaborate burgundy rugs - and _maybe_ his hastily tied shoelace. The graceless move caused him to stumble slightly and after letting out a frustrated grumble, Killian plodded over to a familiar velvet tufted bench. The red material was smooth beneath him and his hand traced the grooves of the intricate stitching as he glared down at the canvas laces of his oxfords. Annoyance battled embarrassment as he reached down to tie them up while letting out a quiet curse or two. It didn't take long to do something so simple - and it took even less time for his eyes to meet the opposite wall, confirming his exact location.

Of _course_ he'd end up here.

It was almost startling just how automatically he'd picked the route out of the palace that would lead him to pass by this particular spot. It was a well known path and one he'd chosen time after time while visiting Buckingham as a boy. Killian pursed his lips as he recalled the story surrounding the bench he was currently stationed on. He'd always loved hearing his mother recount that tale - the one about her overly curious five year old who explored every inch of the royal grounds until he eventually wound up face to face with one of history's bravest kings. Well, a portrait of him anyway.

She had always held such adoring wonder in her eyes when she told Killian of how she'd found him gazing up in mesmerizing awe at the towering collaboration of paint and historical legend that was King Richard I. Killian had never been able to fully recall that first encounter with the painting of one of England's most notorious kings, but it hardly mattered - his mother did that well enough for both of them.

He was never completely sure how she could have come to know quite so much about the fearless, controversial leader that had captivated her youngest son, but evidence from a few afternoons of research was held together in books piled high on the shelves in his father's Kensington office - her determination to learn of the fearless man's life a task she took on until she could recite his biography with adept accuracy. She'd done just that each time they'd journeyed to the palace, inevitably making their way to the company of that coveted artwork. Her words in those moments were ones he held onto with precious might, the stories resounding in Killian's mind even after all these years.

The man on the wall had been a courageous king - a militant leader and a warrior with fierce beliefs and bravery rivaling most others, she'd told him. He had a wild spirit that struggled to be tamed despite constant critique from his consorts though and his impulsivity often took the best of him, invoking a rebellion against his father from a young age and leading him into a life of warfare he'd never escaped. The stubbornness that seemed to hinder the young king - his mother had explained with a knowing look in her gaze - kept him from accepting the love of his family at times and pushed him into a world of loneliness Killian had to empathize.

It had taken some time over the years to piece together what she was truly saying, her comforting arms holding him close as she'd offered what eventually seemed like a paralleled warning. The questions he'd asked were ones he couldn't forget and they echoed through his memory each time he studied the man in the royal colors trapped within the painting.

" _So he was always alone?"_

" _Well, not always - but mostly yes I suppose. He didn't have to be though."_

" _Did the people like him?"_

" _I like to think so. He was never the most honorable or favored of King Henry's sons, but he was fearless in protecting his kingdom - a bit relentless like someone else I know."_

Killian smirked, knowing now that she had been referring to him all along. He and the historical king were perhaps a lot alike - a fact that became more obvious as time marched on and a comparison he'd come to treasure, _even_ if it wasn't the best role model to value..

" _I kind of like him though, mama, even if he wasn't always the best."_

" _Well, all great men have flaws, but they can always choose a proper path, son. It might not be right all the time, but the history and beauty are in those imperfections."_

" _Do you think one day I'll be a hero, mama? Like he tried to be?"_

" _I think you'll be even better, Killian. Just remember who you are - a leader of your country, even if people don't always believe in you."_

" _I'll never be king though, mama. That's Liam's job."_

" _But you'll always be something just as important, my sweet boy. You'll be a loving brother and my son, two labels a royal man can wear proudly."_

An emptiness filled his mind as he followed the details of the picture with his distracted eyes - the red cloak with its gold trim, the blue uniform, the bold crown set atop a warrior's armor - and reveled in the words of his mother's final sentiment. It was what she'd often called him up until the day she had left without a fair fight and forgetting the loving sound of her voice during those little moments was high on his list of fears.

" _So you think people will like me as much as Liam?"_

" _I know they will, my little Lionheart."_

 _My little Lionheart,_ he thought silently once more as his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes began to hurt with painful silence. It hadn't been wise to find this somewhat hidden spot after the argument he'd nearly just fallen into. It wasn't fair to chance sullying such a fond yet painful memory while regret and fury battled within his broken soul, but where else could he have gone?

He couldn't avoid the opportunity to retreat to the one place in the palace that had _always_ made things seem alright in the past - even if the unfair realization he'd be doing so alone now wasn't exactly encouraging.

"Should have known I'd find you here."

The voice was sudden yet unmistakeable and Killian let out a breath as his blinked back the moisture almost clouding his eyes. He knew he wouldn't get far before someone came hunting for him, though he'd truly expected it to be a rather irate Liam. The alternative was definitely surprising, but as he glanced to the side with an expression he hoped wasn't too guilty, Killian realized that the company he was about to gain was some he hadn't had for a while now.

"Dad," he acknowledged quietly with a nod as he fought the urge to fidget. "Sorry, I, _uh_ ….just needed some air."

"Well, you picked a good spot, my boy," his father replied earnestly, his smile calm and perhaps even understanding as he turned toward the painting. "You've always seen him as fit to confide in."

"Ah," Killian almost laughed, his focus on the artwork straight ahead. "Because I'm the defiant son and we have so much in common?"

"Well, Richard here may have led an uprising or two against his father, but I suppose he had his reasons for such actions," the elder man said with his own slight chuckle. "As I'm sure _you_ do too."

Killian smirked without a reply finding its way to their cautious conversation. Chancing an actual look at the man before him was as difficult as it had always been, the effects of an escalating sickness making the once strong and easy going heir look nothing less than exhausted. The stages of defeat had arrived sporadically over the years - everything from the stress of two cardiac arrest episodes to the initial pain of a slowly failing heart diagnosis. The evolving symptoms had taken a heavy toll on the man who was set to inherit the throne as well as the family at his side. It would always be hard to observe the declining health of the man Killian once believed to be unbreakable. It wasn't fixable either and the failure of attempting multiple options to do so had created a thick tension in their relationship.

Nobody could change the conclusion that his father was dying so they did the _only_ thing they could to carry on - they didn't talk about it.

"I know you don't always see eye to eye with Cora," his father started, his tone calm and caring. "But eventually the crusade has got to hit a halt, my boy."

"I….I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I….I won't ever give up on protecting mum's legacy, Dad."

"I know, I _know_ , and I'd dare say she'd be unbelievably proud of you for it," his father said with reassurance. "You've got that same wildly stubborn spirit she had, son, and I don't want you to change that. I just….your grandmother's annual Navy gala this weekend is a rather big deal as you know. We've got a few visitors arriving soon that will be guests of the palace _and_ the royal family. I guess I'm hoping I might be able to reasonably request a few days of ceasefire while we show some hospitality?"

An internal groan was almost impossible to stifle as Killian thought about the impending obligation of suiting up to play proud prince for the public. Royal events were rarely his cup of tea and the fact that this once was Royal Navy related only made his dread that much worse. Yes, It was an odd way of asking for something so simple, but Killian wasn't surprised by his father's calm way of approaching the subject of a truce. The strange sense of optimism woven into the man's weathered spirit would probably never fade, a fact that would always seem senseless given the pale skin and labored breathing that was quite characteristic now.

"I suppose that's fair," Killian conceded, biting his lip as he turned toward the ailing man at his side. "But about the memorial-"

"I'd never let _anyone_ cancel that, son," his dad told him with a soft clap of his shoulder. "Honoring your mother is something I'll alway support. Just let things simmer down for a few days and Cora will too. There's still a couple of weeks until then, right?"

Killian nodded as a hint of relief swept over him. He'd worked alongside his brother to set up the arrangements for the milestone event marking fifteen years since his mother's death and while the support of his father wasn't totally necessary, there was definitely something to be said about the realization that they had it. Watching the hint of a smile cross his the man's lips as he seemed to absorb a memory of the woman their words were now centered around was an easy way to confirm that perhaps his father's heart still held a place for that loss.

"I miss her too, son," he offered, almost as if he'd known what Killian was thinking. "Every single day."

The admission hit him square in the stomach, the well known words making his body ache as he fought back the reply waiting in his throat. _You don't act like it_ , he thought silently before he shoved the response to the back of his mind. Such a retort wasn't fair in a moment like this, even if it was true.

Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe he really _did_ miss her. Maybe it was just easier for him to pretend he _didn't._

"Yeah," Killian said softly. "I know."

The moment was honest and somewhat rare as far as Killian's interactions went with his father. The man seemed to prefer leaving the royal requests to Liam as of late and rarely asked Killian for much anymore, a bit of information that prodded Killian into retreat as he decided being an obedient son for a weekend wasn't that big of an ask. After all, he didn't know how many more instances he'd have like this - ones where his father's health was decent enough for them to have a candid yet motivated chat.

Meeting him halfway was the _least_ he could do.

"Just….tell me you'll try, son."

Catching his father's sideways glance, Killian nodded with a receptive smile. It was difficult not to think of the appeal as a wish for a dying man. It was even harder to accept the reality that it _might_ be.

"Alright then," his father sighed, tilting his head forward to gesture toward the nearby side doors. "Your brother is waiting for you - I suppose you'll want these."

Killian's eyebrow rose briefly as two black and blue rugby cleats were tossed onto his lap. He grinned quietly after a moment, his fingers toying with the recently replaced laces. Running his fingers over the shiny spikes, he mused at the idea of his brother's plan for anger management.

"I'm not even going to ask what he's got planned, but he mentioned Twickenham," his father smirked as he stood carefully with a wink. "So don't tear up the grass too bad and see if you can earn a reasonable excuse for that beat up lip, alright? Save me an explanation to your grandmother."

"Aye," Killian replied with a slight smile. "I'll see what I can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you are excited for Killian and Emma to meet and I promise, it's coming! There's a lot of backstory I want to cover with this fic because it's such an emotional trope. Stick with me :]


	4. Emma - Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the next Emma chapter. I'm sorry this ended up taking so long - crazy life lately! A little more backstory here and the next chapter will be the one we've been waiting for :) thanks for being patient with me. The reviews and flails are all so wonderful and they make my day! As always, all rights, characters, and my soul belong to OUAT.

"So you _still_ don't believe me?"

Emma nearly laughed at her father's quickly drawn conclusion as he flopped down in the seat across from her. Peeking up from the recent issue of _Time_ magazine she'd borrowed from her mother's bag, she found the analyzing eyes of the man who'd just asked her something of a question.

"I never said that," she replied with a sly smirk. "Just trying to process your new level of popularity. I guess I didn't realize how much things have changed since I've been gone."

His gaze was understanding and the tiniest bit concerned, almost as if he needed to hear that she was okay with this little venture. She'd assured him she was a few times over the past couple of days and even if it wasn't totally honest, Emma knew it was the right thing to do. Normalcy was the next step in her father's recovery process and if being in regular communication with a few members of the royal family fell into their now typical realm of "business as usual"…. _well,_ she would just have to learn to deal with that.

"It's not _that_ different, Em," he started with a raised eyebrow. "I used to tell you all the time about how I was in the active ranks with the Queen's son years ago. We were quite good friends even back then."

"Yeah, but you _also_ used to say you'd help slay the imaginary dragon under my bed," she replied, matching his expression. "You can't blame me for questioning what sounds like the stuff of embellished fairytales, Dad."

He chuckled at that, his humored smile a sight she continually hoped to witness over the past few months. His face had been full of alternating agony and frustration since the injury, but as he'd started to heal, those details had shifted into a look of longing - one reserved for a sailor who was certainly missing the sea. It was that view of her father she was happy to be rid of for now and hopefully one day altogether.

So far, her morning observations were making her quite optimistic about that possibility.

They'd only boarded the train leaving platform eight at Leeds Station about twenty minutes earlier and despite having about another two hours to go, Emma couldn't think of a recent time she'd seen him look this alert or prepared. His determined, courageous spirit seemed to rush back as he'd shuffled their tickets between his somewhat nervous hands before moving between the sliding doors in search of their seats. Her mother had taken over that endeavor rather fast and Emma had rolled her eyes when he'd teased her with their usual warning about minding the gap as she stepped on board behind them. Being steered toward first class was a bit surreal and she tried to act casual while she'd navigated a path between an assortment of suited businessmen in the same direction her parents had gone. Arriving in a quiet cabinet of dark blue plush covered seats - two on one side and a single on the other - was an experience unlike the past railway trips she'd endured, but after a moment, Emma reminded herself that this new reality was built on one crucial fact.

They were now part of the royal approved upper class and as snobby as it sounded, maybe it was okay to see just how the other and much more privileged half lived. _Just for a little bit,_ she told herself. After all, the coffee on the cart moving up and down the aisle seemed like a step up.

"I guess it does seem a bit fiction worthy to be friends with an _actual_ modern day prince," her father acknowledged with a brief smirk, the lift of his mouth falling as fast as it had risen. "It's a shame though that even the heir to the throne hasn't been handed one of those happy endings you read about in kids' books - and I'm sadly not just referring to when his wife…."

The sound of his reminiscing voice trailing off prompted Emma to look out the window for a beat, her eyes searching the expanses of green grass drifting by as the train moved. He didn't have to finish the thought for Emma to know what tragic event he was referencing - the sudden and all too heartbreaking death of Princess Katherine which had shaken the world nearly fifteen years earlier. It was a dark time for the Royal family that Emma didn't know much about, but she'd seen the same aftermath as most everyone else - hundreds of mourners lining the gates of Kensington Palace with flowers and sympathy, never ending news articles and magazine covers displaying the unbelievably beautiful face of the fallen princess, and one solemn march of her husband and young sons as they followed her funeral procession toward Westminster Abbey on a dim rainy afternoon.

The loss hadn't been hers, but Emma had felt the heavy grief pushed upon the world that day and it wasn't a memory she wished to relive.

"Well," her father said after a moment, his eyes calm yet sad as he tried to will away the sad thought. "I guess I can just say that I knew Brennan back before his days became so difficult to endure."

Emma's head swirled with several questions that she hoped to clarify, but one stood out among the lot of them - one that wouldn't require explanation if they weren't discussing a man who was part of a long, traditional lineage.

"Wait - _Brennan?"_

"Oh, yeah - though I guess the more proper title would be _Prince_ Brennan, or Charles William Philip Brennan of Wales if I were to be totally accurate," her father explained, his expression slightly amused. "He'd probably kill me for addressing him by his extraordinarily long name though. He's preferred only the fourth part as long as I've known him, which he's always reminded me of right after insisting I drop the formalities in regards to who he is specifically."

Emma felt her eyes widen again as the connection between her military driven father and the regal class continued to unfold. _An actual first name basis,_ she realized while continuing the process of accepting an elevated social status. Well, _fourth_ name - but it was kind of the same thing in this case.

"Hell of a sailor though aside from being next in line to the crown," he continued, running a hand over his recently shaved face. "It's a shame his health has taken such a toll on his ties to the Navy."

Emma narrowed her eyes a bit in confusion, her mind trying to deduce just what he might be about to divulge. She'd heard gossip here and there about a few health issues the eldest prince had been battling for the past decade at least. It had all stemmed from an illness that struck just after his wife's tragic death if Emma was recalling correctly and she wasted no time in asking for clarification with a wondering tilt of her head.

"I think his steady decline started around Christmas that year - almost three months after Katherine's passing," her father said after a few prolonged and achingly silent moments. "He had a rather mild heart attack, likely brought on by stress in my opinion but also due to an underlying condition several doctors have been trying to decipher for years now. It wasn't quite as severe as the one that followed a few years later. I have to say it's an unfortunate type of ironic to see a man who's so silently passionate about life fall victim to a failing heart."

Since the second her father had taken the seat across from her own, Emma had been wondering just what sort of endgame was in store for this conversation and more so for the destiny driven man being discussed. Hearing the words that wrapped that answer in a cloak of tragedy wasn't terribly shocking given the rocky road the heir apparent had traveled health wise, but they still met her ears with a painful and quite perilous sound.

The elder prince meant to one day take the throne had a broken heart - both figuratively and oh _so_ literally.

"So he's going to….I _mean_ , what about….like a-" Emma tried, stammering as she adjusted her inquiry. "-transplant or something? Is that a possibility with his condition?"

"It was once I suppose - well, _twice_ actually," her father recounted. "But an illness like his isn't always so easily remedied. They've tried for the surgery on two separate occasions, but it just hasn't panned out."

"Oh," Emma said softly. "Why?"

"It's quite a long story, Em - maybe too long for a train ride from the country to the boroughs," he told her distractedly, the sudden halt of his history lesson making her even more curious. "But I guess one thing I can say for sure is that not all stories end with happily ever after - _even_ when you're a prince."

Emma felt the mood shift as he stared out the window for a moment, his eyes distant with a recollection she hoped to eventually learn more about. She couldn't help but feel guilty as she watched him - a lot had evolved while she'd been away in the states and while the camaraderie he now shared with the well known royal was something she knew little about, it was obvious how affected he was by his ailing friend's plight.

"I appreciate you coming with us, Em," he said suddenly with a grateful smile. "I know you don't particularly love London and visiting the city is always a bit chaotic, especially on weekends."

"It's no big deal, Dad," she assured him with a returned smirk. "You're sure _you're_ up to this though, right?"

"As much as I just _love_ being cooped up in a house with two women who won't stop asking me if I'm okay, I think a breath of fresh yet slightly smoggy air will be a nice change," he teased, nodding toward the single seat across the aisle where her mother was sound asleep. "For _all_ of us."

They seemed to share a mutual sense of relief at the view of her mother so unstressed as a nap overtook her. Emma had become familiar with the woman's troubled sleep habits since the accident as it was a struggle they shared, both of them alternating their bouts of worried insomnia while keeping watch over her healing father.

"Yeah, I've never seen her give into a seat swap so easily with me," Emma agreed, noticing how her father's expression filled with honest admiration as he watched his wife slumber. "Maybe a few days away will be just what the doctor ordered."

She couldn't help but giggle at the dramatically exasperated eye roll he offered in return, her ironic little play on words obviously just as cheesy as it sounded. The way resting didn't seem to vex the woman she'd been enduring this with at the moment made Emma believe that maybe they were on their way back to normal - even though this rather prestigious trip was _anything_ but typical.

"Her idea doesn't seem like a terrible one actually," he decided while shifting back against the deep navy blue headrest. "You wouldn't mind allowing an old man to get a bit of shuteye, right?"

"You're not _that_ old, Dad," she said in return with a teasing grin. "But go ahead - you're probably going to need it if you're going to sit through a bunch of boring meetings today."

"Hey, they aren't _that_ boring," he replied with a wink. "Should only be about two hours to King's Cross and there will be a driver there to fetch us when we arrive."

Emma found herself still a bit flabbergasted by the formal amenities they were about to experience as she nodded and told him to get some rest. She honestly hoped he'd do so for what was left of the ride and while her simple wish stemmed from a never ending concern for his fragile health, a sudden desire to discover more about the family her father had just painted a vague picture of was something she was anxious to heed to. Knowing just the place to begin, she reached carefully for the magazine she'd recently set aside. It seemed like some odd piece of fate that the publication was advertising an article with a _Modern Young Royals_ title - one about a familiar second heir and the less well known spare.

Her eyes followed the red letters on the cover to the table of contents, her fingers then navigating to the near middle of the pages. The short story wasn't long, but it slowly filled in the answers for a few questions floating around in her mind.

They were brothers of course, a fact she'd always known but one that suddenly fascinated her. Emma realized after a quick mathematical effort that the pictures printed alongside the words must have been a bit outdated - the photographs displayed two young soldiers who she now knew were retired military and sneaking up on thirty with a three year age difference. Well, at least the younger of the pair wasn't past that milestone yet. The article continued to chronicle the boys' adult lives - Liam and Killian of Wales, she'd read at the start - including their charity work and the eldest one's low key thirty _first_ birthday retreat in Scotland. They seemed close and she wondered briefly if that conclusion was accurate. The relationship they'd developed had to be a bit tense with what certainly defined a whole new sense of sibling rivalry.

She sifted through the information printed in dark text as the green hills outside the window passed by, the train progressing along right on schedule and steadily enough to keep both of her parents peacefully asleep. The article didn't offer up as much new insight as she'd been hoping for and Emma sighed heavily as she toyed with the corner of the page.

Her eyes soon caught easily enough on the older brother's uniform, the crisp lines of the attire cut in deep blue and white just like her own father's. Though the picture was old and taken about four years earlier toward the end of his active duty, the pride and courageous qualities of the firstborn prince didn't seem like ones that would wear off anytime soon. The royal man had been mentioned in a few conversations throughout her life, especially once he joined the Royal Navy and eventually worked his way up to Captain - though as a man of a regal bloodline, his power obviously stretched beyond that title. His smile was genuine in the image displayed before her and it awakened an odd need to know deep within her soul - but the particular intrigue was suddenly not focused on Liam.

Her eyes scanned sideways unexpectedly with steady movement until her sight landed upon the younger prince. It took only a few seconds of staring down at the soldier dressed in the more sensible war-fit camouflage for realization to fill her head. While her previous knowledge on the older brother wasn't extensive, the truth regarding Prince Killian and exactly who he was was unbelievably unclear.

Sure, he was the _other_ brother - the spare to the heir if dictated by cliche - but beyond that, she knew _nothing_ about him.

Checking on her parents once more, Emma slowly reached into the black tote she typically slung over her shoulder on trips like this. Her hand bumped against the smooth cover belonging to her old copy of _Anne of Green Gables_ \- the book she was planning on rereading for the hundredth time - before she found the device she'd packed alongside that timeless tale. She pressed the power button quickly, making herself a little more comfortable in the cushioned seat as she waited for the iPad screen to brighten.

 _Almost sixty percent left_ , she noted silently. That battery life was plenty for an hour or so of research.

Emma let her fingers hover over the search bar as she pondered what to type. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for or just how much there was to learn about the younger prince, but the conflicted blue of his eyes in the single picture she'd just seen made it appear that there was more to him than what could be written in a two page spread. There was a mystery surrounding this guy - one who was only two years older than she was - and she needed to learn just how deep those serenely still waters ran. Opting to type simply his name with the formal title included, Emma hit the search key and waited in slight annoyance for the train's Wi-Fi signal to load the page.

"Holy hell…."

The barely expletive comment passed her lips in a sudden whisper, her teeth holding her tongue as she read the results with wide eyes. There was instantly a wealth of interesting information crowding her screen, everything from his recent departure from the military to his upcoming charity event regarding his work with wounded soldiers. The headlines were tempting as she scrolled through them and her impression of the second born royal began to slowly form, an opinion that was slightly honorable and dignified as she noted everything from his recent trip to a local zoo alongside a pack of private school first graders all the way down to his upcoming plans for an African elephant conservation trip. She didn't mean to so quickly gather a sense of intrigue toward the man affectionately deemed 'the people's prince', but there was no disputing the positive way he represented the Royal family - well, at least not until she clicked onto the _second_ page.

 _Whoa_ , Emma thought with narrowed eyes. It didn't take long for text including terms like 'past rugby brawls at Eton' and 'the Las Vegas ladykiller' to put a pause on her impressed demeanor - or for those titles to be the ones she chose to elaborate upon.

She wasn't sure just how much of it was true as the publications ranged from trashy tabloids to online pop culture sites. Many of the reports were dated back a few years, possibly documented before his stint as a courageous helicopter pilot. There were plenty of them though and it was almost too easy to stereotype him as a playboy of sorts who'd taken part in numerous acts filed under that cliche of sex, drugs, and - as a fight at a past music festival in Dublin indicated - even a _little_ rock and roll. As her touch swiped through dozen of stories, the facts began to prod her into a state of shocked surprise.

Prince Killian certainly wasn't as charming as his handsome smile and dapper suits suggested. He was almost some kind of a bad boy - and Emma's mind spun at the possibility of regality actually looking rebellious in the form of a dark haired, wild spirited royal.

The minutes ticked on, winding down the duration of their journey as Emma kept trudging through the tales her search had led to. There was no shortage of questionable stories and she shook her head as she navigated them - a short piece about his party habits and the various women he'd been spotted with. Her confusion mounted as she came across a piece speculating the reason for the prince's unexplained departure from Eton college a year earlier than was planned. The dramatically printed conclusion that he'd been kicked out didn't seem totally off base now that her exploration had shed some light on the enigma that was this younger prince - and that light wasn't of a bright sort as the publications piled up.

_Another Weekend Bender for Prince Killian!_

_Supermodels Galore As The British Prince Hits The California Beaches!_

_The Prince's Untamed Temper Rises At London Pub!_

_Cheating, Failing, and Wild Nights Out: The Real Reason HRH Prince Killian Left Eton Early!_

It felt strangely scandalous to be reading such outlandish reporting on someone whose name was proceeded by the label 'His Royal Highness', but each line of text seemed to normalize and expose him just a bit more. Emma knew she shouldn't care so much about someone she didn't even know. Just because they were visiting the palace didn't mean she'd _ever_ even meet the man who was so suddenly mysterious and she had to thank god for that since there was no way she could look him in the eye after what she'd read - or what she'd now _seen_ in some _very_ interesting photographs following a few of the articles.

Sure, he was handsome enough - that probably wasn't really a secret to _any_ woman in the world. Emma had admitted that to herself a few times over the year, typically when he graced the cover of whatever magazine she'd end up perusing while waiting in the grocery store checkout line. Everything from his dark, messy hair to his stormy eyes seemed to define what it meant to be attractive, but once he'd added a well trimmed beard and a seductive smirk - well, that upped the stakes a _little_ more.

The pictures she found herself currently studying were changing the game even further in her mind though and it was becoming one where the rules were very few - _almost_ as sparse as the clothing he was wearing in some of them.

There were a few from a bachelor's party he'd attended years earlier at the Bellagio in stateside Sin City where a late night strip poker game led to a drenched prince, his slightly grown out hair and defined chest falling victim to some poolside splashing. Just a several scrolls below that distracting photo opt was a blurry snapshot where a man who _might_ be the prince she was contemplating appeared to be celebrating a friend's birthday party in nothing but his _own_ birthday suit, only a well placed palm tree censoring the sight. There were also a couple pictures of him clad in a collared leather jacket with a drink in hand, intoxication scribbled all over his face as he moved from bar to bar throughout downtown London. In most of them, he was in company with the same small posse of two or three guys and also often followed by a pack of smitten women that constantly varied. Emma tried to ignored the way her face burned with what definitely was _not_ jealousy, but perhaps…. _annoyance?_

This guy was _supposed_ to be the chivalrous face of the royal family, but as her research droned on, it was hard to see him as anything but a careless and perhaps _hopeless_ womanizer.

Emma gave in to each outrageous link, her mind beginning to settle on the fact that this esteemed guy was bad news when her eyes unexpectedly found a string words that made her heart sink. She'd been silently afraid of finding articles like this one and her breath stuttered as she debated clicking on the blue title.

_A Second Son's Struggle: How Prince Killian Found Peace After His Mother's Death._

_Oh_ , she thought with pause and a small gasp. The suggestion of this royal man possessing yet another layer was painfully irresistible and Emma swallowed hard as she prepared to possibly change her mind _again_. She was almost certain she was headed down that perplexing path - well, right up until the sound of an cabin announcement signaled their arrival in the capital city a few minutes ahead of schedule. Her father's movement in the seat next to hers prompted Emma to hit the lock screen button and quickly stow away the device in the bag she'd retrieved it from.

"See that-" her father yawned wide, his eyes a well rested light blue. "-wasn't too long at all, right?"

"Uh, _nope_ \- no, it wasn't," Emma replied as she took a deep breath. "I guess I kinda have missed riding the train."

"Now, _that's_ the spirit," he smirked, his line of sight focusing to analyze her. "Anything happen while I was out?"

Emma felt her cheeks grow warm as she thought back on the covert work she'd been undertaking while her family dozed. She couldn't pinpoint _why_ she suddenly cared enough to explore further so she _definitely_ couldn't explain her wonderings to the man who sat in high standings with the leaders of their current country and many others. _Not now_ , Emma decided without words - and maybe not _ever_.

"Nothing to report," she answered, feeling instantly regretful for her ironic phrasing. "Well, other than the fact that you snore and that mom is still able to sleep through it."

"She's always found a way to put up with me I suppose," he winked, looking over at his tired wife as the train began to slow. "I guess we should wake her. All set?"

"Ummm, yeah," Emma nodded with a final glance out the window just as they passed beneath the arched entry toward the various platforms. "Guess we better get going, Admiral."

The charismatic grin he offered in return was enough to quiet her shaky breath as she rose from the cushy seat. Hearing the sounds of other passengers shifting and her mother's happy sigh as she awoke seemed to make it all that much more real. It really didn't matter if she was ready or not. They were actually headed for Buckingham Palace - and she could only hope her recent intel wasn't about to make that visit even _more_ awkward.

###### 

"Oh, right over there," her mother pointed as they traversed the concrete walkway toward the ticketing area. "I think that's him."

Emma barely caught the signaling tone of her mother's voice, her eyes well beyond distracted as she observed the architectural beauty that was London's recently renovated station. From the moment they stepped off the train, she'd been been entranced by the building - the open plaza design, the sound of the echoing overhead departure and arrival announcements, and the steel structure of the towering roof. She'd been silently wondering just how her mother was able to sound so chipper right after waking up as she studied the white metal grid that weaved an enclosure above them. She quickly realized it was more than just a way to keep the city's sporadic rain from beating down on the throes of commuters and while she hadn't come to appreciate much about urban transportation, the sight definitely put a hold on her complaining as they exited through two of the various glass doors.

The sun was mild and a slight breeze hung in the air as Emma rubbed the smooth fabric of her striped sweater. The temperature wasn't much different than the one they'd just left, but as her eyes scanned the busy street lined with taxis and pedestrians, she noted that London was going to be quite the change from their peaceful stay in Leeds. Squinting as the bright light brought her back to an aware state, Emma tightened her hold on her shoulder bag as she peered in the direction her mother was gesturing.

"Yeah, must be," her father answered, his taunting wit returning in full. "I guess that sign reading 'Nolan Family' in big bold letters _is_ a dead giveaway."

Emma laughed softly as he received an unamused glare from her mother. It was a reaction that would have typically come in the form of an unabashed elbow to his side or a slap on his chest, but what they'd endured the past few months didn't really accommodate such acts. The expression on his wife's face seemed to get the job done anyway and he abruptly pressed a kiss to her head as he led them toward a man holding a clipboard and paper with their last name in welcoming black text.

"You must be Marco," her father said kindly, holding out a hand for the man to shake. "Bren-...I mean, _Prince_ Brennan gave me your name, but I must admit he didn't say much beyond that."

"That I am," the man smiled as he accepted the handshake before glancing over to Emma and her mother. "Which must make this Nolan family."

"All but our son," her mother commented with a grateful grin. "He attends Eton, but we'll be meeting up with him while we're here. Oh, _heavens_ , I'm sorry - I'm Mary Margaret, David's wife."

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Nolan - Marco Geppetto, palace chauffeur," the man nodded with a slight bow. "I'm glad we're finally meeting as I've heard nothing but wonderful things about your family for years now."

His eyes were deep brown and the way they crinkled at the corners was so cheerful - a fact that quickly put Emma at ease. His face was slightly tanned while partially covered by a white beard he kept neatly trimmed. He wore a tweed flat cap that hid what hair he still appeared to have and his face was wrinkled with a numbers of years she couldn't quite pinpoint. His attire was a little more casual than expected from a man who drove royalty around for a living, but Emma decided quickly that the tan sweater vest paired with a brown tie and slacks was very fitting for the old man who seemed very much like an ally.

"So I suppose that makes you Emma," he started, raising an eyebrow in question. "Columbia grad student and the only daughter, right?"

"Oh - well, _former_ Columbia student actually, but yes," Emma answered, trying to ignore the blow to her ego he certainly hadn't _meant_ to offer. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Ge-"

"No, _no_ , Marco will be just fine," he chuckled, moving the few steps to hold open the door of a jet black Range Rover for them. "Unless my driving isn't up to par, in which case, you're welcome to label me with whatever curse word you deem necessary."

Emma felt herself perk up slightly as he handed her a type of banter that might lead to a good humored friendship between them. As she clicked her seatbelt, she didn't fail to realize that such a development might not be possible. It was highly likely that this man was one of many when it came to drivers contracted to the Royals. This could very well be the only and last time she saw him, a thought that made her spirit fall when she noticed how instantly he'd also ignited a casual conversation with her father.

They chatted up a storm as they traveled, a mixture of explanations and easy laughter that could have provided her with hope of a pleasant trip had she allowed it. Keeping her eyes trained on the passing scenery, she tried to tune out the talking resonating from the front of the obviously quite new SUV.

It didn't matter that the beautifully built station and this man's cheerful demeanor had welcomed them so unexpectedly to the central hub of England. Her father was there to do a job and nothing could completely change the fact that they - well, _she_ \- didn't belong in London.

"So if I recall properly, your meeting at the Ministry of Defence is in about an hour, sir-" he started, glancing toward her father as they waited at a roundabout. "-and then the prince mentioned that some shopping might be in order?"

"Shopping-" Emma started, her eyes moving back and forth between her parents. "-for what?"

A slow, suspicious silence filled the car as her father glanced back at them from the passenger seat. Emma shifted slightly against the sleek leather as her eyebrow lifted expectantly. _They were up to something,_ she realized as her parents exchanged sneaky expressions. Each glance seemed to accuse the other of dropping the ball on this one, but as usual, her mother with some well practiced peacekeeping prevailed.

"I just thought maybe while your father is busy, we could go look for-" her mother said, clearing her throat as she tried to act casual. "-a new dress."

"A…. _dress?_ Why do I need a new dress?"

Marco cracked a small smile as he turned onto a busy road, the vague parts of a confused picture finally sorting themselves out for him. Her father was fidgeting distractedly with the cuffs of his dress shirt, a little tick he often gave way to in uncomfortable situations and one that seemed to speak volumes given their current circumstances. Emma's mind drifted back to the last time she'd seen him toy with his sleeve so nervously and it took only a moment to recall that he'd done this _exact_ same thing the morning he'd asked her to attend the Cambridge gala in his place - an ask that even he knew was a lofty one. Emma was in the middle of remembering just how humorously nervous he'd looked and how hard she'd tried to act irritated when suddenly, it _all_ started to make sense.

She needed a dress for a royal event - and god, they were _truly_ going to owe her for this.


	5. Killian - Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry this took so long.  I got in that cycle of overthinking things and it ended up being much longer than anticipated! Future chapters won't be as long as this one, but I had lots of Killian feels in this one :) so hopefully you all enjoy it! As always, I own nothing. Happy reading!

The night had barely begun, but Killian finalized his decision with a fifth tug at his pressed sleeve - he _hated_ this bloody suit. Truthfully, he'd never been particularly keen on being properly trimmed and tailored in general so the dismal conclusion wasn't really a wildly drawn one. Killian had spent his fair share of years finding ways around royal dress code, his preference of modern casual easily overlooked due to his charming smile and stellar sweet talking skills - or at least that's what he told himself. It was easy to see why looking so proper was important as a representative of his grandmother's monarchy, but still, that didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

Perhaps it _wasn't_ his current attire that was solely the source of his agitation he noted when the smooth traveling black BMW pulled up to the gates of Buckingham. He'd spent the few hours before sunset arguing with the brand new, trim-tailored, clean lined blue suit - an endeavor that earned a multitude of grumbles and a few countdown texts from his incessantly formal brother. Taking a final glance in the bathroom mirror, he smoothed the maroon and navy striped tie as he settled on what was _really_ bothering him.

The event calling for his recently required clothes was one he'd been dreading for weeks now - a Royal Navy veterans' memorial ceremony where he'd most certainly spend the evening regaling his older brother's military heroism while squandering the need to sort out his own.

The idea that this was his fault on some level _had_ crossed his mind once or twice since he'd returned home. He'd elected to take the route less selected by royals when he'd chosen the British Army instead of sailing the honorable seas. Breaking the tradition wasn't something he'd done by fear or a distaste for the open ocean, but rather a result of his stubborn need to move out from under his older sibling's shadow.

Of course, that was supposing that such a momentous feat was _actually_ possible.

It wasn't that Liam's courageous dedication to the Navy was anything to balk at - his older brother had navigated the crown and their family through murky, troublesome waters several times. His victories were always discussed in bold terms, the admiration just about everyone seemed to have for the man just ahead of him in the succession line rarely something that wavered. Killian had always seen his big brother in that brilliant light, but as they grew older and Liam completed multiple seaworthy rescue missions, it became a lot more difficult to idolize rather than compare with him. The eventual king-to-be had a decent military based resume, but it didn't begin to compete with the near decade long career Killian had endured while flying through front lines of combat. There were certainly a few qualities and experiences that Killian could easily pull rank on, but it didn't really seem worth it to do so.

His brother would always have what he would never - and _that_ plan had been put into place years before Killian was even born. Liam was the right sort of Captain through and through, a leader of the masses not just limited to the sea, but Killian - well, he had always been something a _little_ more rogue.

"If I didn't know any better-" the familiar voice commented as it's owner approached Killian's side. "-I'd say you look _mighty_ uncomfortable, brother. New suit not feeling as dapper as you'd hoped?"

Lifting his vexed eyes to address the man who owned those subtly chiding words and many others was probably overdue. He was, after all, almost a full hour into avoiding social obligation _and_ the brother who so often reminded him about it. Killian knew that feigning surprise at Liam's approaching stance was futile - his only sibling was unusually adept at tracking him down.

"I'd beg to differ," Killian returned, mustering a bit of that second heir charm he reserved for bantering with his brother. "Just because I don't love wearing it doesn't mean I don't look dashing, your _highness_."

"Hey, _don't_ start," Liam grumbled with a warning glare that slowly turned into knowing amusement, his hand lifting to adjust the collar of his own suit coat. "Besides, if you're looking that pretentious in this traditional get-up, it certainly means _I_ am too, little brother."

Killian grimaced quickly, his agitated gaze narrowing as Liam's grin lit up. He couldn't help but bestow a light nudge to his brother's side and he tried not to grin too widely at the way Liam winced in dull pain. Victory swelled in the smirk Killian was holding back as he remembered their recent rugby scrimmage and recalling the way the high and mighty heir had taken hard hit to the ribs was almost enough to make him forget that they were currently matching in ways well beyond their stupid injuries.

 _Almost_ \- but not quite.

The whole thing was merely another detail of these obligated events and one that he had lived to loathe since they were boys. Why two adult men needed to dress identically - everything from pressed slacks to the matching jacket with the two toned striped tie - _just_ because they were royal was completely beyond him.

Wiggling his warm toes in his newly shined shoes, he knew it probably wasn't wise to mention to Liam that their attire wasn't _totally_ the same. His older brother never possessed much patience for the subtle act of rebellion Killian insisted upon when it came to concealed footwear, but pulling on one of his many pairs of obnoxious socks was always a temptation not to be ignored. He'd settled on the blue ones with the little boats for this particular evening, knowing that they'd be at least somewhat relevant even if it wasn't _completely_ proper.

"Glad you find my melancholy entertaining as always, Liam," he sighed with a defeated yet still small smirk. "But for the record, it's-"

" _Younger_ brother - I _know_ ," Liam replied with a matching curve of his mouth, one that suggested they might be back on good terms. "It'd be a shame to spend the evening brooding in the corner though, Killian. It would probably be wise to hop to it before Cora says anything…."

Killian felt his shoulders straighten uncomfortably at the mention of the woman who'd just entered the large ballroom. The evening was tense and frustrating enough as it was without the presence of their arriving stepmother, but the deep breath he attempted to take seemed to insist that things were only about to get more difficult. Her entry into the esteemed venue commanded attention in a slightly admirable way that Killian still couldn't understand, but he couldn't help but take pride in the fact that she still didn't receive the pure adoration from the public that his mother always had. While she was respected in a specific manner, there always seemed to be an understanding hanging in the air - the quiet reminder that she wouldn't be there if the first wife of His Royal Highness Prince Brennan still was.

She was a replacement and Killian truly hoped she'd _never_ forget that.

Killian held his ground as he watched her move toward them in a boldly red gown clad with a fake smile and jewels that were actually of her own procuring. Cora had come from her own line of distant royalty, a piece of information that Killian was grateful for ever since the first time he saw her sporting a modest diamond tiara. He had always believed his father wouldn't even consider offering her any of the beautiful jewelry that had been stored safely under lock and key since the day of his mother's funeral, but he also knew better than to not think twice about Cora's ability to manipulate. She'd used it to her advantage a few times since marrying into their family and he'd predicted it from the beginning. A tense fight with his father a few nights before the man wedded her was long standing proof of his distrust in the woman who didn't deserve to be any sort of Duchess.

" _So that's it? You can just marry her without thought all while pretending that Mom….that she never even-"_

" _Killian, stop," he'd tried, his shoulders sagging in frustration. "That's not fair. That is not what this about and I think you know that, son."_

" _It doesn't make it right, not when you can just….forget-"_

" _I haven't, son," he told him, his voice cracking just enough. "I miss your mother and always will."_

" _Could have fooled me."_

Killian knew he'd never forget the wide eyed reaction he'd earned from his father after uttering those four impulsive words. They'd been chosen angrily and had crossed a line never meant to be breached. He'd spend years trying to figure out how to redraw it, but the tense aftermath of that argument was proof that some things just couldn't be taken back.

Well, perhaps he'd known that for a while now.

" _Killian, I just-," he'd said softly with his eyes honest and a watery blue. "It's just….easier that way. It's easier to not let the hurt consume what's left of me. She's gone, son - and I will fight the agony that encompasses that fact until I can understand just why it's any sort of fair….but I can't just….I can't spend the rest of my life being angry about it. I really wish you wouldn't either."_

" _I can and I will," he'd told his father with a stubborn, emotional voice. "Because she deserves to be remembered and missed every single day - and I won't let her down like….you are."_

The pain rushing back alongside Killian's silent reminiscing still cut deeply and he tried to squander the shame roaming through his mind. Though they'd found their way back to a mutual understanding of loving respect, the tension invoked between Killian and his father had never fully smoothed itself out. The reminder of that was immediately brought forth as he caught the sight of the eldest prince. Their glances locked for only a moment - a quick acknowledgement of one another that seemed to somehow mean everything - and Killian felt his body relax as he watched the ailing heir apparent move into the grand ballroom.

Perhaps it wasn't so easy to tell that his father was still endlessly fighting off the effects of his poor health. It was simple enough for Killian and a few other members of the family to see the decline, but they'd spent time with him frequently enough to note the changes each day brought. It wasn't as if the world was oblivious to the man's medical history - they hadn't exactly made it a point to hide much of what the prince's heart had been through in the past. The first heart attack had been so sudden and stressful as it struck in the aftermath of his mother's death and the one that followed had nearly ruined him. The saga continued when multiple attempts for transplants and treatments had been fraught by even more trifling circumstances, ones that still made Killian's head ache with the 'what if' tones of possibility. His father had ended up with an illness on several occasions that prevented operating and there had also been the morning one of the scheduled surgeries was halted as the passing of the beloved Duke of Edinburgh - an honorable icon of the free world but more importantly the queen's husband and the father of the ailing prince - was announced the night before. That had all been years ago and while their family had not denied much, little more was volunteered in addition to what the press concluded.

It didn't mean the questions didn't cross Killian's mind multiple times a day, much as they did with the thoughts of others he supposed. How much time _was_ left? How long would they have to wonder in terms of years and months? Would he still be there to take the place of the Queen when the time came?

Everyone speculated things of that nature often, but the details were vague - and perhaps it was for the best. Strength and consistency were part of what had made his grandmother such a coveted, successful monarch and the last thing they needed was to ignite a concern that the man who was supposed to ascend the throne next wouldn't be well enough to carry a finely crafted legacy.

"He's been looking better lately," Liam commented as they watched their father shake several hands. "Though I doubt he'd miss this even if we insisted."

 _Always the optimist_ , Killian thought without retort to his older and much more hopeful brother. Perhaps it was good to have the encouragement of an idealist hanging in the regal air. Perhaps it wouldn't be wrong to allow them both a fraction of positivity despite what was surely a nearing end.

Killian didn't believe it, but Liam _needed_ it - and maybe that was the least he could offer the brother who'd done so much more for him.

"Aye," Killian nodded softly. "He's always been quite the Navy man."

The quiet comment came without much thought and Liam's chuckle almost made Killian forget about the broken spirit possessed by the man they were analyzing. Their father had actually cleaned up well - his garb stitched in the blue threads of the full naval apparel and his beard neatly trimmed. The usually immaculately clean cut man's hair was a bit longer than was typical for approval, but Killian knew no one would dispute such a minor detail. His eyes were still subtly exhausted, but his calculated movements were proof that he was going to fight through the discomfort for at least this one evening. Watching the way his multiple service medals hung on the fabric covering the space just above his weak heart was definitely a sight that made both Killian and his brother nervous, but seeing him as a formal Admiral of the highest rank was unexpectedly reassuring. The pressed, pleated uniform was a huge shift from the knit sweaters and casual pants he wore regularly since his condition had worsened.

"Still is to some degree," Liam told him with a gentle nudge and a brotherly smirk. "I'm glad he felt up to attending. There's supposed to be a few men he served with here tonight I believe, especially since Admiral Nolan is returning to command soon."

Killian cocked his head sideways at his brother's words. He'd heard the name of the man just mentioned a few times over the years, but most recently he'd caught the sound of it in reference to a naval training mishap not long ago. He didn't know the extensive details - only that a storm just off the coast of Scotland one afternoon had nearly claimed the man's life along with several others. Killian had watched many fellow men face injuries and had even witnessed the sudden demise of a fallen few while on the front lines, each tragic instance just as painful as the one before. Watching a comrade meet that thin line between life and death wasn't something he'd ever gotten used to and he felt a small sweep of relief float over him when he was told that the case of a man his brother obviously held in high regard wasn't as bleak as it could have been.

He didn't know the admiral in question, but he knew those tales of tragedy and the opposite outcome made him glad to see a heroic military man escape a fate less than victory.

"Alright, I'm going to go touch base with a few people and I suggest you do the same, brother," Liam nudged him. "I'll catch up with you in an hour or so - don't wander off too far, alright?"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

A swift slap of his arm wasn't enough for Killian to regret his sarcastic quip of agreement. His smirk held steady as he watched his brother disappear into the growing crowd of honorable sailors, the charisma he possessed definitely _not_ something they'd equally inherited. Turning toward the large clock on the wall across the room as it hit the top of the hour, Killian made a quick decision.

He had about forty minutes before anyone would _truly_ be looking for him - and _that_ was plenty of time to indulge in the liquid courage he was going to need to make it through the evening.

###### 

Killian had always been rather fond of this particular part of the palace, even though the entire building itself wasn't high on his list of personal sanctuaries. He'd always found some sense of peace on the central balcony of the Buckingham courtyard - well, as long as it was dark out and the majority of the palace was otherwise occupied.

The elaborate space was renowned and Killian had spent his fair share of time enjoying the prestigious view. Of course, he had done so under much more social and unified circumstances before - always alongside the close knit collection of royals while displaying pride and unwavering faith in the crown. He wondered if his love for such a location came from his memories of being there with his family still intact all those years ago - Liam pointing excitedly at the planes overhead while their father grinned and their mother laughing as she'd tried to hold onto her squirming youngest son. No matter the reason, it was easier to stand in such a noticeable place at _night_ now. That was mostly because the elevated terrace was almost concealed in the darkness courtesy of the granite overhang and multiple columns keeping the architecture stable, creating a sense of off limits tranquility. The space below was well lit, keeping the courtyard easy to navigate, but the balcony above was dim enough to pass for a sufficient quiet place. He rested his grip on the smoothly constructed stone railing as he soaked up the irony of hiding in plain sight. It was almost certain _nobody_ would stumble upon him here.

"Well, aren't you a predictable sight?"

Killian felt the pressed fabric of his suit bind a bit, the material stretched thickly as he turned to peer in the direction of the intruding voice. The quickly approaching dusk wasn't helpful and he squinted slightly while his posture straightened in realization of just who would know to find him out on such a specific balcony.

"Gran," he breathed with a hint of a smile, nodding as she came fully into view. "You're back."

Her returned grin was a bit goading yet adoring as ever as she moved to join him on the well known terrace, her stroll slowed and oddly casual. She was dressed with typical pomp in a cream colored gown emphasized by a series of elaborate jewels and he nearly laughed as he realized that such clothing would have been accompanied by a perfectly matching hat if it were daytime. Instead, her graying hair was topped by a pristinely jeweled sapphire tiara - merely one from her collection of so many others - and Killian recognized it instantly as her favorite.

Of course, she'd never _admitted_ to such an opinion, but she'd wore it frequently enough over the years that he and Liam had labeled it as the trademark 'Granny's crown' from very young ages.

"You missed me I take it," she decided, gesturing around the secluded dim balcony of the grand estate. "If you being out _here_ is any indication."

Her eyes were set in an expressive way he'd seen often but never totally been able to decipher, a mix of amusement and slight disappointment while still bearing an emotion that could only be defined as sympathy. He had fallen victim to such looks of pity many times over the course of his life and from a variety of people - citizens from all over, distant relatives, sometimes even Liam, but most often from the longtime monarch herself. It wasn't that she felt bad for him, but more that she shared an understanding of the workings regarding the emotional roller coaster he'd _never_ bought the ticket for but still ended up riding anyway. She'd always been a perceptive observer of his hidden sadness and it was perhaps because she carried a wealth of it herself. His grandmother had dearly loved the tragically taken princess from the instant the pair were introduced and seeing the toll that loss took on the family as well as the country wasn't an easy sight to behold, even for a remarkable woman who was sixty years into her reign.

"Always," Killian answered earnestly, accepting her gentle embrace and offering his usual peck on her cheek. "Dare I believe the same?"

"That I _missed_ you? Well, I was hardly given the opportunity to before I caught news of just what you've been up to in my absence," she replied with a firm yet curious tone. "I suppose we should discuss that."

She looked almost as uneasy as he felt, but only for a moment until she let out a receptive sigh. He'd been trying to muster an excuse or a deflection since he'd heard she was headed home via voicemail from Liam that morning. There didn't really seem to be a proper way to make himself out to be innocent in this particular situation, but he knew he had to say something.

"I guess….but, I do want you to know that I didn't….I _just_ -" he attempted, eventually shaking his head with a frustrated breath. "-I didn't intend to bring poor attention to us, especially not while you weren't here to reprimand me instead of Liam doing so. Trust me, I would _rather_ it was you. I know it was….wrong though….and I didn't mean for this to be what you came home to, your highness."

" _Well_ , no need to get formal now, Killian - it's only us here," she countered with a gentle smile. "I'm just trying to gather the facts, unfortunate as they may be."

"I know, Gran, but I'm sorry-"

"My dear boy, I'm _not_ here for your apology," she assured him. "If there's one thing I've grown to find endearing about you, it's that vivacious spirit you inherited from your mother. She was the same in a way, you know."

The comment brought a familiar smirk to his mouth as he recalled a few circumstances in which his mother had broken royal protocol in her own style - everything from refusing the regular palace schooling program for her sons to her inability to keep from hugging the abandoned orphans on her service trips to illness ravished countries. She'd never really been one to do things by the regal book and while it had infuriated many of the traditional members of their elaborate government, Killian believed that it was part of what made her so relatable and easy to love.

After all, there weren't many other princesses who secretly wore tennis shoes beneath the occasional ballgown.

"Yeah," he said with a weak smile. "She was."

"Well, we've got a bit of time before the evening commences," she decided, taking a seat on the granite bench close by and patting the empty spot at her side. "So why don't you come tell me what this whole thing was about?"

Killian hesitated a moment, scratching behind his ear anxiously as a soft breeze drifted briefly across the balcony. He'd been teetering on some form of pins and prodding needles since the morning Liam retrieved him from the police station. The possibility of having to face accountability for his impulsive actions a few nights earlier had caused him to dodge his older brother with a hope that his guilty conscience would eventually drop away. He'd settled with the knowledge that it might not and in that case, he'd be facing off with Liam in a bantering battle he'd fought a few times before. Having to explain himself to the queen though - or rather, the temper driven and _very_ idiotic version of himself - was a little more intimidating and Killian struggled to summon the hazy, hangover inducing memory of that evening as he staggered toward the open seat.

He hadn't planned on elaborating, but this was his grandmother after all - and this woman was always one to do the unexpected.

"I don't suppose it would help if I admit that I don't exactly recall most of what happened that night."

"It definitely doesn't assist your case in a _positive_ way," she agreed. "But I like to think I'm a fair judge when it comes to the mild transgressions of my grandson, even if they've been largely misguided in the past. So what happened? As much as I typically trust your brother, I'd be a downright fool to believe that happened at an afternoon rugby match."

Her sight gestured toward the slowly healing cut on his lower lip and Killian tested the tender wound with a slight scrape of his teeth. It didn't hurt much anymore, but the frustration he still felt regarding the whole ordeal made him wonder just what sort of scar might remain afterward.

He realized silently that it might not be the sort that would merely mar his dashing good looks.

"I guess the fight started with Will Scarlet's thoughtlessly intoxicated mouth and ended with me stepping in when I shouldn't have," Killian started, glancing out over the darkened palace grounds. "It all got out of hand quicker than I expected it to, but when the insults directed toward our lineage started getting tossed about, I guess I just…. _had_ to do something."

"Ah, defensive to a _slightly_ reckless degree then," she smirked. "I'd ask what was said, but I'm sure it's not anything I haven't heard before. I appreciate you being protective, Killian, but would I be wrong to say that I don't think this whole thing is about last night?"

He scoffed quietly, shaking his head in a light fashion. The night was already quite lightless, but she'd still somehow picked up on the presence of some underlying cause. It didn't surprise him all that much - his grandmother was intuitive to an almost unfair degree.

"I don't know what else it could be about," he lied teasingly, lifting an eyebrow in deflection. "Just that Irish temper you know."

"It's hardly fair to blame your late grandfather's heritage for such an outlandish evening, but I can take a hint I guess," she told him in return. "So I'll just say this - we both know I appreciate you doing your royal duty of keeping things interesting around here, but I'm merely going to request that you do so when I'm _in_ the country, dear. Observing from a distance isn't nearly as timely, even with the news circulating through social media so rapidly."

"Ah," Killian said, silently grateful for her mercy. "Does this mean you've gotten the hang of Twitter while overseas?"

"I'm afraid the feud between that _bird_ and myself is ongoing and I'll likely end up hiring someone to sort it out for me soon enough," she sighed with a small smile. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd be willing to lighten the publicity workload for a bit. It would be nice not to have to issue a statement on anything for a little while."

Killian let out a light breath of respite as he watched her gaze soften. He knew he'd never fully understand just why the woman with an unmatched sovereignty always tended toward leniency with him, but the hint of sympathy in her expression reminded him that he didn't need to _comprehend_ it - he needed to be thankful for it. His grandmother had every right to scold him above and beyond everyone else, but once again, she was choosing not to. The tender grace in the moment was comforting and he nodded firmly in agreement.

"That's more like it," she grinned, patting his leg. "I ought to get inside I suppose. Your father is probably about ready to send out the corgis in pursuit of me if Liam hasn't done so already. You'll be along soon I trust?"

"Aye," he promised, helping her to her feet and kissing her cheek. "Good to have you back, Gran."

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," she bantered with a wave of her hand. "We'll see if you still feel that way once I put you to work."

"Oh?"

"I'd say it's about time for something new," she replied, considering him quietly. "Stop by garden lake tomorrow morning around nine and for lord's sake, make sure you do something about that _hair_ on your face. I'm quite sure your brother might know where to get it trimmed up - or removed entirely, if you're open to my preference."

"A _trim_ it is then," Killian countered with a clever grin. "See you then, Gran."

A quick wink was her only reply as she moved toward the doorway. Killian decided he'd find clarification on just what that little taunt meant later before he checked the time on the shiny silver watch he'd recently acquired, noting that his little segment of solitude was likely nearing its end. He knew he'd be expected to be present for Liam's welcome speech and his grandmother's remarks, both of which would probably be underway in roughly twenty minutes or so. Reaching back into his jacket pocket, he fumbled around for the metal flask he'd stowed there earlier. Surely a quick dose of rum would make him more amenable in regards to playing spare for a few more hours.

"Ugh, _damn_ shoes…."

He'd barely uncapped the metallic container when he realized he wasn't alone in a search for temporary solace. The not quite casual sentiment was voiced in a bit of a breathless tone from the courtyard. The soft gasp that followed made him almost sure it wasn't meant to be heard by anyone, but it had gathered his attention despite his previous determination to ignore anything but the concealed libation he was hoping to drink. Killian rocked on his heels a bit before he moved toward the railing with a careful stride, his neck craning to see what was causing the noise from the enclosed area below.

His eyes widened fast before squinting back into focus and his heart quickened, its gentle beat suddenly keeping time with the clicking of shoes that weren't his as he leaned on the engraved barricade in concentration. Killian shook his head once, checking for some sort of a daze as he reminded himself that his view wasn't the work of an alcohol addled brain. Pressing his lips together in a fine line, he stared ahead with little disappointment that his plan to hide out hadn't been foiled by the Queen alone.

No, there was someone else who was apparently looking for the same breath of fresh air he'd been in search of - and _she_ was much more unanticipated than _anyone_ else who could have found him stowing away outside.

Her slow moving and rather intriguing figure was unusually easy to spot despite the lack of daylight in the open space just one flight below where he was standing. Killian's free hand rested gently on the smooth stone balustrades he'd clung to many times over the course of his royal upbringing as he watched her. It should have been more difficult to see in such concealed circumstances, but his curious eyes endeavored to take in the details of the woman who was some sort of stranger to a place he knew far too well. She didn't appear lost but merely stranded in a way he immediately understood and his brow knit as he tried to figure out why he was so instantly labeling her as a kindred spirit. She didn't seem like a royal and he was somehow positive they hadn't met before.

 _No_ , he'd remember a girl like this one. The strangely hypnotic sight of her made him sure of that.

It didn't take a keen observer to realize she was completely captivating, but a man with a watchful eye is certainly what she tempted him to be. Her hair was blonde and it tumbled down her back in waves that told a story he didn't know but longed to hear while several strands framed the face he wished he had a better view of. Her dress wasn't over the top - a feat to be admired after the _various_ fashions he'd seen at these events - and the white material clung delicately to her slender body from her shoulders down to the cobblestones and concrete. The pattern it created along her arms and around her collar was harder to decipher beneath the cover of night, but he knew it completed the simple gown elegantly. They didn't typically encourage event guests to explore the courtyard without proper security close by, but Killian was struggling to be annoyed by this particular breach of the rules.

He'd come to the balcony for a few moments of nothing before expectation pushed him back into his second place role. He'd been hoping for some of that rare silence he managed to attain once in awhile and perhaps a quick drink to soothe the demons deep in his soul, but here he was instead - a man with unknown company in the form of this girl and her sense of subtle rebellion.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he had questions - ones that might take more boldness than he'd find inside of his flask. The thought had barely prodded him when he suddenly lost his option of alcohol as the suddenly slippery container tipped off the railing and dropped to the solid ground below with a faint clang.

 _Dammit_ , he scolded himself silently as a rush of hot embarrassment filled his cheeks. So much for grace and good form.

"Son of a _b-..._ I mean, _uh_ ," a quavering yet sweet voice started, the sound of pure curiosity meeting his ears. "Is….someone up there?"

Killian slumped slightly, his posture pulling him back out of sight a moment as conflict filled his head. He knew she was looking for him - or well, _someone_ \- with what were surely very focused eyes. He could feel the silent burn of her searching as he took a slow breath and adjusted his hold on the firm stone barrier. His palms pressed flat against the granite as his eyebrows furrowed and the reminder of who _he_ was sunk back in, putting a pause on the nervousness his clumsy move had created.

 _Nervous?_ Why was he nervous?

Sure, he'd made a slight fool of himself even if he did remain unseen and perhaps he'd been staring a _bit_ too long. He wasn't exactly being the gentleman he knew he could be, but Killian soon recalled one fact that shoved him back into a realm of cocky confidence.

He was a _prince_ \- one with a respected connection to the building surrounding them - and she was the one who was _very_ much out of bounds. He didn't exactly have to be a gentleman in this case.

"I, _uh_ ….sorry, lass," he said as he straightened himself and cleared his throat quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She peered up at him with the most beautiful sense of bewilderment he'd ever seen, her lips quirking up into a stunned smirk that faded as fast as it had arrived and her eyes fell upon him cautiously. Killian didn't know a simple look like the one she was offering could make his pulse pound and his mind race chaotically, but as he looked down to where she was waiting, he found himself distracted by every detail she possessed.

She'd removed her shoes - well, _one_ of them anyway - and the dark heel had been dangling from her fingers while she was walking. He wondered a moment if her uneven footwear was the cause of the annoyed exclamation that had first alerted him to her presence and he mused slightly at the idea of her being an _actual_ Cinderella type.

He retracted the idea almost immediately however. She didn't really seem like a typical princess - or at least she _definitely_ wasn't like the ones he'd met before.

"Oh, you….you didn't," she fibbed in a rather unconvincing fashion. "I just didn't think….anyone else would be out here."

"Oh - well, I'd dare say our state of surprise in that area is….equal," he returned, his shoulders relaxing as he slipped back into his charming routine. "With the exception of you being down _there_ rather than up _here_ , lass."

"Can't really blame me though," she told him with a gesture toward the platform he'd been using as a hideout. "Kind of a highlight of this place, isn't it?"

"I suppose it's somewhat of a sight to behold, though typically palace visitors aren't encouraged to be out here without staff - and almost never at night."

"Oh, I didn't….know," she stammered with a glance toward the glass covered entryway. "I guess I should have realized-"

"Oh - _no_ , it's okay, lass," he cut in with a voice of understanding. "I….won't tell."

Killian felt his stomach flip flop the moment the reassurance left his lips. He wasn't sure where the need to keep some menial secret came from, but he couldn't deny that he liked the idea of the small connection it build between them. He knew he should prompt her to head inside - it may have even been his royal duty to do so. Yet as he watched her conflicted position, he decided that wasn't the route he was about to take.

He wanted to see just how this spontaneous encounter was about to play out, even if it meant bending the regal code _just_ a bit.

"Something about that decision makes me think maybe _you're_ not supposed to be out here either," she concluded with a tilt of her head, her words making him nearly drop his suave facade. "How'd you even get up there?"

He had managed his stealthy escape to the balcony by way of the knowledge he'd gathered over the years, his feet well aware of just which staircases to climb and what doors to slip through. He mulled her question over as he wondered if confessing his title and the information that came with it was wise.

 _Maybe not,_ he decided silently. As much as he wanted to know more about her, he knew putting himself on a pedestal probably wouldn't invite her to be honest. It wasn't that he planned on lying, but rather just….not offering her the _whole_ truth. His teeth toyed with his tongue as he convinced himself that it was the fair road to take.

After all, he'd likely never see her again once they left this conversation behind.

"All about who you know I guess," he said vaguely, leaning forward a little. "So what brings you out here?"

"Oh, I….well, I _just_ -" she tried with a soft exhale. "-I guess I'm not really fond of this sort of thing."

"The gala or your current chat with the stranger on the balcony?"

She laughed lightly, a sound that suddenly drew his mouth into an amused smile. He bit back the reaction almost instantly while hoping she hadn't noticed. The surrounding night plus his higher position had given Killian some kind of interesting upper hand and he decided it was best to hold onto it.

"Royal gatherings in general I guess," she explained. "I was just hoping to get some air before the formal stuff starts. I'm guessing you're doing the same?"

"Something like that," he chuckled as he tried to maintain his masquerade of mystery. "I'm not much for this stuff either."

"So you're not a Navy guy?"

"Can't say that I am," he divulged. "I'm afraid it does run in the family though."

"Mine too - well, at least with my dad. He kind of coerced me into attending the ceremony tonight."

Killian tilted his head a fraction, studying her slim outline in inquiry. He hadn't pondered the thought that she was there for such an rational reason. He knew it was mostly because he'd been so consumed with his own misery, but it seemed like she was very much in the same boat - pun _not_ at all intended.

"I guess I just….have a hard time with this whole 'hanging out with royalty concept'," she continued with a sigh. "No offense to tradition, but the whole system of crowns and thrones just feels a bit archaic."

Killian felt his stance go rigid as he absorbed her slight accusation. It was quickly obvious that she didn't know who he was and he wondered what else he _might_ tempt her to say - a chivalrous approach be damned. It wasn't fair to do what he was considering, but his curiosity was too strong to brush off.

"Aye, definitely can be it seems," he agreed with a bit of smugness. "Pretentious for sure - maybe even with a little entitlement. You've met them I take it? The Royal family?"

He waited anxiously for her answer, his wondering as to whether she'd crossed paths with his father or Cora or even Liam making him simmer with an underlying emotion he couldn't pinpoint. He couldn't explain why he cared about what she'd been up to, but his desire to hear about what she'd been immersed in while inside was tangled up in a need to know.

"Just briefly," she answered. "Just Prince Brennan and his son - the older one. He's actually a genuinely nice guy from what I could gather.

It was difficult to ignore that strange pang of something in his stomach, but Killian tried to do so as he tapped his fingers on the railing. He knew later he'd probably think more about just how this mystery girl and his brother had met, but for now, he had more inquiries to resolve.

"Ah, I'm sure he is," Killian countered with an evasive curiosity. "Didn't run into his brother though?"

"Prince….Killian or something, right? No, I didn't," she answered, her voice curling around his name in a way that fascinated him. "I'm not even sure if he even decided to attend this thing tonight."

Killian shifted on the heels of his new shoes as he mused at her conclusion. There was an impulse to react, but he fought back his instincts as he decided to prod her a little more. What she'd surely say was probably not anything he hadn't been labeled as before, but his defenses lifted while he found a response.

"Yeah, he doesn't really seem like the type for a formal affair like this," he fibbed. "What led you to that particular verdict though?"

"Well, you just hear things….and _read_ things."

Of _course_ she'd fallen victim to the somewhat true _and_ false reports he'd stacked up in those several years between his gap year and Sandhurst - possibly even a few tales from his younger and very cavalier life as well. While she had every right to make the same assumptions others did, Killian found himself slightly irritated that she'd done so.

After all, she didn't _know_ him - and they'd never even met as far as she knew.

"I suppose he's something of a wild card," he retorted evenly. "Kind of the black sheep from what one can tell. You've got to wonder what drives that rebellion of his."

"Can't say I know much about him, but I'd doubt it's rebellion as drastic as _drinking_ on the Buckingham balcony," she teased as she leaned down to retrieve his dropped flask. "I don't think even a guy who kinda owns this place would be _that_ bold. I'm surprised you are."

Killian smiled, trying to shove aside the slightly jabbing feel of that guilty thorn in his side. He briefly pondered the idea of calling her on her vague judgements, but she did know his name - and maybe there was a chance she would match his face to the moniker as well. He wasn't ready to risk that, but as he felt the air thicken, he summoned another idea.

 _Turnabout's fair play_ , he decided as his tongue lingered on his bottom lip.

"Maybe not," he started smoothly. "But I suppose it's only fair I get to know name of the woman who plans to turn me in?"

"It doesn't seem _that_ fair actually," she replied, her hand still holding tight to the flask. "You haven't told me yours."

A couple of different possibilities - or rather, tiny lies - ran through his mind as tried to pick the path of least destruction. The truth wasn't an option and the ticking minutes weren't about to allot him much more time to entertain his anonymity. He couldn't leave her without an answer though.

The question of how he was supposed to go about telling this girl about his all too formal identity wasn't about to fade away, but an answer he could deem suitable wasn't within grasp. Killian pressed his lips together in consideration as frustration built a dilemma between them. How exactly do you go about casually divulging that you're one of the two princes the world knows rather well?

 _You don't,_ he thought in silent resolution - so he wasn't going to.

"I'm….nobody too important, love," he finally said, cowardice taking hold of his tone. "But you-"

His deflecting statement was suddenly cut short by the sound of distant applause, the sort that beckoned him back inside with a twinge of warning. Killian felt his nerves liven as he looked quickly at his watch only to find how late he was. Only about five minutes - but his brother was still _definitely_ going to kill him.

"I guess that's a cue," she told him, a half smile tugging cleverly at her lips. "For me, at least."

"Aye, it seems so," he agreed as he tried to cling to a few more seconds of whatever this was. "Good luck in there - and sorry for….infringing on your escape. I suppose we can keep each other's secret, right?"

"I guess we should," she assured him as she battled with her shoe once more. "The company wasn't too bad actually though so….thanks for that."

He smirked quietly as he found he couldn't manage to disagree. He hadn't told her much of anything - not many of the actual _facts,_ of course - but his side of the conversation wasn't full of complete dishonesty. He wasn't a man of great importance, especially in terms of this particular evening. She hadn't been wrong about him and his avoiding ways either. It hardly mattered though - this wasn't anything but two isolated ships passing on a rather dull night.

"Hey, umm," she said with a inquiry heavy on her breath. "This isn't the part where you kidnap me for ransom or something when I try to return to the palace, right? Because I don't really have much to offer in the way of royal riches."

He perked up slightly at the sound of good humored and possibly somewhat concerned question. His heart seemed quicken a bit as kept her stare trained on him. There was a cleverness to this girl he'd never planned on meeting and he let a smile slowly encompass his lips as they soaked in the last few moments of their bantering conversation.

"Wasn't planning on it," he laughed lightly. "I've got a few other things to attend to, fortunately for you."

"Okay, good….and in that case-" she replied with a small pause. "It's Emma. _I'm_ Emma, I mean."

Blinking lazily, Killian gave the letters a second to rearrange themselves in his head. He watched the night carefully conceal the slender shape of the the girl who'd become a little less of an enigma with the breath of that single name.

"Emma," he repeated to himself with a surreal smirk.

For a night meant to be shrouded in defeated dread, it was sure shaping up to be strangely victorious.

###### 

Killian found himself immediately distracted as he moved through the grandiose doors and back into the packed ballroom. He wasn't totally sure how many attendees had been slated for the evening's festivities, but certainly hadn't prepared to see quite this many. The majority of the guests were men - both decorated sailors and other government officials alike - and the presence of heroic medals adorned with the utmost valor was staggering. It seemed that most of them had arrived alongside a companion and the mix of well dressed wives and dolled up girlfriends instantly made him wonder.

Where had _she_ gone?

He'd been tempted to follow her inside the moment she left his sight and perhaps intercept her trek back toward the main stage, but retrieving his flask from the statue base where she'd left it was a more necessary task to undertake. He couldn't chance leaving unattended alcohol near such a popular point of the palace grounds, especially because he knew it might be traced back to him given his recent bout with the stuff. He'd ducked outside fast once more upon reaching the lower level, snatching the container and slipping it back into his jacket with haste. It was tempting to linger there in an effort to take in the same air she'd been breathing only moments earlier, but the vibration of his phone as it nearly fell out of his opposite pocket was a reminder that someone was surely irritated with his absence - and it didn't take a bloody scholar to figure out just who.

" _Dammit,_ Killian," Liam hissed, grabbing his arm as they met to the side of the presentation platform. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Take it easy, Liam," he bit back, shaking off his sibling's hold. "I said I'd be here and I'm here. Right on time too so don't get your knickers in a bind."

The queen's opening words were well underway and Killian focused on her presence for a moment. She never failed to make leadership look so properly effortless, her etiquette perfect as ever as she vocalized her gratitude for the service of the Navy men and the sacrifices they made. He'd always loved watching his grandmother speak and the fact that Liam was so determined to interrupt his listening was annoying on a level only his older brother could manage.

"I am quite sure it's not _me_ who's about to be a little frantic," Liam said in a hushed tone as he shoved a crisp note card toward him. "You've been recruited to help."

Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion before his sight fell to the thick paper he'd just been handed. The flawless speech his grandmother was delivering became a dull mumble in his ears as he processed what was scrawled in perfect penmanship his stare battled with.

 _No,_ he thought as his heartbeat faltered a bit. No, no, _no._

"Hey, calm down," Liam said, clapping him on the shoulder as he sensed the multiplying waves of anxiety crashing into the room. "She just wants you to say a bit - welcome a few people is all. Then it's all me, brother."

 _The whole thing should be you,_ Killian thought with a hard swallow. He had barely been able to coax himself through the palace doors earlier and now it was being requested that he take the space behind the podium for a few simple lines.

Well, they'd be simple for anyone else - the Queen, his older brother, probably even his ill father - but the tension in his body and the numbness of his tongue told him this was not going to be any sort of easy. When it came to public speaking, 'simple' wasn't in the cards for him.

"Once again, we are elated to have each and every one of you here this evening to celebrate all you do in the service of our country," Gran said with a formal farewell tone before glancing toward the pair of them. "Before we continue celebrating our guests receiving high honors, my grandsons have a brief message they would like to share. I ask you to welcome them not only as wonderful representatives of the throne but also as fellow servicemen. I know their gratitude certainly ranks alongside my own. Without further ado, two of our royal Captains I'm delighted to have here tonight - Liam and Killian of Wales, representing the Royal Navy and the British Army respectively."

The applause in the large room was deafening enough to drown out the anxiousness flowing through Killian's veins as he followed his older brother up the few steps to where their quick speech would commence. He was loathe to look up over the seemingly endless crowd as Liam adjusted the microphone and put on his most charming smile. The heir in him was obvious as he vocalized his prepared words smoothly, his confidence never wavering as the blur of faces looked on. He'd always had a way with commanding attention while still inviting adoration.

That trait had skipped over Killian and replaced itself with the handsome but slight arrogance he was trying to muster as Liam nodded, beckoning him closer.

"We are, _uh,_ beyond grateful to have such an esteemed audience here this evening. Each of you sacrifice and strive to….make our country a better, safer place," Killian started, hoping he wasn't mimicking his brother too obviously - it wasn't like he'd been paying attention. "We are thrilled to welcome back to service several men who've….who've risked more for our citizens and sovereign than could ever be expected."

Catching Gran's hopeful smile followed by Liam's steadying gaze nearly sent him into autopilot, his remaining speech hazy and his hands still trembling by the time his brother took over again. Liam's short biographies for the handful of honorable attendees the royal family was recognizing sounded faintly in his ears as he scanned the crowd. He was too busy trying to calm his shaken spirit to realize just what he was scouring the silent group of people for - until he found it.

Well, until he spotted _her,_ of course - and lord, she was even more curiously captivating beneath the low lighting encircling them.

He nearly missed it - a fast flash of shock and knowing drifting over her features as their gazes fused quietly. It was a war he suddenly felt destined to lose so he could gain something even he didn't understand and his brain fought like mad to recall the name she'd left him with. It was a task of quick deduction, but not one that completely drowned out his brother's resumed introductory sentences.

"We feel especially advantageous on this particular evening to extend a hand to one of our most respected leaders of the armed forces - Admiral David Nolan, a man who had truly braved a variety of treacherous waters in order to be here with us now," Liam carried on as Killian held onto the stare of the graceful woman adorned in a pale lace dress. "We feel beyond fortunate for his presence and wish to offer a warm welcome to the supportive family he has joining him tonight-"

Killian took in the nervous sight of her as she glanced sideways, the breaking of their eye contact making his eyes follow hers. It wasn't difficult to piece it all together, even with the view of the woman he'd spent the evening fixated on. Killian's stomach sunk slowly as he watched the Admiral being recognized - pristine blue uniform, proud stance, an expression that seemed emotional as well as grateful all at once, and the accompanying grace of a dark haired woman at his side. There was another notable presence in close proximity to the honored couple - the one of the unknown girl who'd tilted his regal world slightly off its axis only a fraction of time ago.

 _Not possible,_ Killian told himself as realization slammed into him.

"-Mrs. Mary Margaret Nolan and their daughter, Emma."

Everything seemed to freeze in place as her wide eyes beamed with recognition, the moment of them placing one another much more intense than either could have planned on. _Bloody hell,_ Killian thought as Liam's sudden elbow to his ribs pried his gaze away from hers. Of _course_ this would happen to him. Of course he'd end up in such awkward circumstances.

The beautiful blonde from the courtyard was the Admiral's daughter - and her current embarrassed expression confirmed that she knew _exactly_ who he was.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going forward, the chapters will be from both Killian and Emma's POVs with the page breaks signaling the swap! Enjoy this one - more fun is coming in the next one (which will hopefully be posted much sooner than this one now that I'm almost finished with another school year). As always, I own nothing. All rights/characters belong to the creators of OUAT.

"Em? You okay?"

The simple question was like a sharp snap, the sound of her shortened name and the following inquiry bringing her back to the present instantly. She hadn't meant to fall into such a distracted daydream on the short drive to Eton, but letting her mind wander had been nearly impossible to stop since the night before - yes, the night where she'd made a complete fool of herself in less than twenty minutes.

That was probably a new personal record.

The persistent butterflies in her stomach were the prodding reminder of just how the previous evening had unfolded. She couldn't remember all of it - a realization that wasn't a total surprise given the intimidating formal setting of a royal gathering and encounters with a few new faces - but she couldn't forget the way a slight chill moved across her skin when she'd rose to her sore feet during the ceremony's opening speeches. She'd known from the start that the older son - a proud Navy leader and proper prince named Liam - would be taking the stage just after the Queen, but she hadn't expected the short remarks from another royal that came in between those two prominent speeches. It had brought her whole world to a screeching halt when her unexpected trip to the courtyard returned to haunt or perhaps _taunt_ her in the form of two _very_ blue eyes and a surprised smirk.

No, she would have never guessed that her casual conversation with some stranger on a balcony would lead her to meeting the youngest of the two regal brothers. If the mix of disbelief and curiosity on his face when her name was mentioned during her father's introduction was any indication, he _definitely_ hadn't imagined that moment either.

"Something on your mind this morning?"

Her mother's concern was rational - they'd barely spoken since leaving the palace in the care of a new driver. Emma smiled quickly as she feigned reassurance. This wasn't really the best time for explanations or admissions that could cast a pall on the partly cloudy day just outside the traveling car.

"I'm fine - sorry," she replied, shaking her head as she tried to bury the thoughts of the man to whom she'd said far too much. "Just tired I guess. It was kind of a….long night."

Her mother pressed her lips into a slight curve, her expression cloaked in uncomplicated understanding. Emma let a tiny wave of guilt roll over herself as she noted her answer was assumed to be based on the firsthand view of seeing her father return to service after months of being restricted to much lighter work in the countryside. That detail had been emotional to a small extent, but what was currently weighing on Emma's anxious mind was definitely a bit more taxing. It wasn't exactly something her mother was clued in on, but that wasn't exactly by her fault.

After all, how could she have known about her daughter's all too honest run-in with royalty. It's not like she'd told anyone about that - especially _not_ her honor driven parents.

"I guess it was," the dark haired woman said. "I know those little outings aren't really your cup of tea, but it was nice to have us all there together - well, aside from your brother, of course. It's going to be great having him with us today."

Emma gave her a soft smile before peering out the window with faint disappointment. It hadn't been any sort of secret that her mother was looking forward to the weekend reunion they were about to have with the youngest member of their small family. The anticipation building up to the drive out to Berkshire was only slightly flattened by the news that her father wouldn't be able to join them, a decision that was made when he'd been given the agenda of meetings requesting his attendance while they were in London. His long list of obligations had multiplied overnight, but her brother's school schedule was granting its students a long weekend that would allow them to all meet up back in the city for a day or so once they made it through the approaching afternoon.

It was one that was about to fall victim to her fifteen year old brother's rugby match and a whole lot of wishing she was _anywhere_ else.

"I promised your father I'd take lots of photos," her mother announced as she fiddled with her phone. "It's been such a long time since any of us have seen Neal play."

Emma sighed quietly as she watched the woman battle technology with a look of concentration that was almost too exaggerated. She knew she should be excited to see her little brother and while she was to some degree, her eager spirit was mildly deterred by the twinge of the same emotion she always felt when it came to her only sibling - unexplainable and _completely_ irrational jealousy.

Her parents had married young and they'd had her not long after that with the decade that followed leaving Emma as an only child. It had been slightly lonely living a life minus siblings, but her father was in the prime of his military career and constantly moving from base to base didn't give Emma much time to dwell on it. They'd lived all over the Commonwealth realms - a year in New Zealand, two in Northern Ireland, and many summers near military training ports on varying islands in the West Indies - before being stationed in Halifax for the remainder of her childhood. It had been a blessing to settle down in the country they all knew as home and as Canada became comfortable once again, their lives evolved quickly. A large waterfront estate became their new house, a stray kitten became her stowaway pet, and there was soon a new youngest member of the Nolan brood.

Emma had been nearly eleven by then with the gap between a new baby brother and herself creating a sense of competitive comparison she still wasn't sure about - even though she often felt like the underdog when it came to the affection of her mother and even once in awhile by her dad. It wasn't intentional on their behalf. She knew they both loved her, but it was….different from how they adored Neal. It was silly to feel jilted by a brother who was so different personality wise, but for the entire fifteen years of his life thus far, she had never been able to help it.

"I'm sure we won't be too long, Em," her mother assured her, obviously noticing her look of longing for a place without a rugby field. "Just the one afternoon scrimmage and then back to the palace for the weekend."

Emma smiled appreciatively as she allowed herself a moment to note all the catching up she needed to do with Neal and how grateful she'd be for him as an ally back at the royal residence. As much as she'd skulked in his shadow even as the older sibling, her little brother truly was a wonderful person who seemed to understand her on a level deeper than most.

"So, you were introduced to a few of the Royals last night then?"

 _There_ it was. Emma fought back the groan tingling in her throat as she glanced down to take interest in her fingernails. She had almost thought not, but of course her mother _had_ noticed the few casual small chat instances she'd found herself in the night before - the first being with the prince her father was longtime friends with. Those words had been simple and at the behest of the man who she'd always looked up to, especially as she'd spent the past many weeks looking after him. It had been a slightly surprising conversation, but one she'd navigated with her dad's company.

" _You must be Emma," the dark haired man deduced as he extended a hand. "I've heard quite the variety of things about you, lass - all of them outstanding I assure you."_

The eldest heir had been kind and hospitable in a way that almost convinced her he might be healthier than she'd recently learned. It had taken deft observation for her to see the signs of a man at war with his illness - the tired eyes and slowed movement being the two things that could have given him away if she hadn't already known.

" _It's an honor to have your family joining us," he'd smiled, glancing from her back to her father. "It's been far too long though perhaps a bit too soon for you to be out and about, mate - I mean, not by my standards but more by the concerned look on your daughter's face."_

Emma felt a small smile turn up the corner of her mouth as she continued to avoid her mother's questioning eyes. There was something endearing about how welcoming the secretly ill man had been and it had been a moment she'd been most grateful for, especially since she had felt like nothing less than a fish out of familiar water since the moment they'd arrived in London. It was a greeting matched only by that of the heir apparent's oldest son - another sea captain who also seemed just as pleased with the presence of the Nolan family.

" _We're truly elated to have you all here," the fairer haired yet very blue eyed man had said. "I'm looking forward to working with you as we make final arrangements for the new fleet's launch in the coming weeks, Admiral Nolan - and a pleasure to meet you as well, Emma."_

He had a certain honesty about him that she'd instantly admired, his genuine grin with the matching nod full of hope for a bond with her father. He was handsome to an undeniable fault - wavy hair and broad shoulders proving that - but Emma noticed immediately that she didn't feel drawn to him in a way she had a right to consider. Sure, she was no princess and he was clearly destined for a life she could barely fathom, but he'd extended an unexpected offer once her parents were pulled away - one that seemed to hinge on the opportunity for a unique sort of comradery between the pair of them.

" _So," he'd said, making her flinch as he cut in on a quiet moment of studying one of the perfect paintings lining the walls. "A fan of the art, are you, lass?"_

" _Ummm, sure - I guess. I just….felt like taking a little walk. Sorry if I-"_

" _Oh - no, that's not at all what I meant," he replied, waving his hand in clarification. "I guess I just….know that look is all."_

" _Oh," she acknowledged with a lift of her eyebrow. "So I'm guessing you like this….well, whatever this is….too?"_

" _I suppose I've gathered an appreciation for it over the years," he shrugged, peeking up at the portrait of an old merchant ship. "I can't say that my preference for it is anything close to my brother's though - he tends to be the scholarly one when it comes to this stuff. He knows quite a lot about these old Navy paintings, even though he's more fond of the skies rather than the sea."_

Her voice had caught heavily in her throat at the mention of the man she'd been hypnotically researching on the train. She hadn't made it far enough into her search to see the facts his older brother had offered up without thought - the little truths about the youngest prince's fondness of flying and the fine arts. She hadn't admitted to anything, feigning ignorance regarding the spare prince as Liam elaborated vaguely. She knew she shouldn't play the uninformed fool card, but a subtle desire to know once again took over.

 _That_ seemed to be quite a pattern lately.

"He's cute - the oldest one," her mother commented with a smirk, somehow knowing full well what her daughter was recalling. "He's a Captain in the Royal Navy, as I'm sure you heard."

Emma pursed her lips as she wondered just how a simple trip to London had landed her in such risky waters. She'd been in these almost trapped circumstances - the ones where her mother was not so subtly pushing her toward an eligible, honorable guy - and she quickly noticed that the talk they were about to enter into was very irrelevant. Sure, Liam was certainly good looking and charismatic beyond most men she'd ever found to be suitable. If she would have spent a bit more time chatting with him, she may have learned more appealing information about this man who was set to rule the country one day. The time they'd spent talking had been more friendly than flirtatious and while she hadn't been in a rush to get away from him, she'd eventually opted to get some fresh air and allow him to further his royal obligations of hospitality.

It was her decision to venture toward the courtyard that had changed _everything_ \- and that was definitely one of the reasons this wasn't a conversation worth entertaining. At least, not until she worked through these odd emotions she had regarding her first meeting with the _other_ prince - the one who was not as much of a stranger as she imagined he _should_ be. She just needed some time and as Emma caught sight of that hope flickering in her mother's beaming stare, she decided that deflection road was the only way to go.

"I guess Prince Brennan isn't too bad on the eyes," she teased, holding back her laugh at the sound of her mother's scoff. "I'm not sure how Dad would feel about you thinking so."

"That's not what I meant, Em."

"Hey, you said the _oldest_ Prince," Emma countered with a shrug. "Last I checked, he's the one who fits that bill, Mom."

"Well, we _both_ know who I was referring to," her mother said with a raised eyebrow. "But okay, you've made your point - for _now_."

 _For now_ , Emma thought with a twinge of dread. She could almost guarantee those words were a warning - a promise that they'd revisit this topic later. It wasn't the end of what would obviously be some very incessant prodding, but as Emma leaned back against the seat, she suddenly found herself with newly acquired gratitude for the game and suitable distraction of rugby.

###### 

"So, a new assignment - hmmm," Marco contemplated, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as they idled at a roundabout. "No other information?"

"Well, you know Gran," Killian replied distractedly as he straightened his tie for the third time. "She's always one to keep her hand close. It's part of what makes her a bit of a card shark, both literally and figuratively I suppose. Doesn't matter if it's poker or parliament - we both know she can always keep you guessing."

Marco chuckled at that, his eyes carefully watching the street while his head seemed busy with possibilities regarding this morning venture. Killian knew the look - it was the one he'd seen on his own tired face around dawn via the recently polished bathroom mirror. He hadn't slept much, not with how his brain was buzzing over what his grandmother might be up to or with the way his heart raced every time he thought back to the beautifully blonde stranger at the gala. He'd laid in bed after the event with wide eyes fused to the dark ceiling for hours, trying to settle with the fact that this girl wasn't the unknown guest he initially thought she was. He'd backed himself into a corner by making his very wrong conclusion - that much was clear when their eyes found each other in the middle of his brother's speech.

Her stare had been as complicated as this situation surely was, the deep green battling a subtle hazel that he could somehow see easily even at a distance. They were eyes that held a wide range of emotions within the depths of a single gaze - the kind that reminds you of truth and dares you to inquire about pain - though he wasn't quite sure how he knew that.

"Well regardless, it's always good to gave Her Majesty back at the palace," Marco continued as he turned onto a familiar road. "Though her request for you to meet her in the garden at such an early hour makes me think you might be up as a candidate for _my_ old job. It was a meager beginning, your highness, but I must say I do quite miss it from time to time."

Killian grinned in amusement at the way his longtime driver could so casually put him at ease. Truthfully, he hadn't been hinging so much on the location they were headed to. The Queen had been away from her beloved flowers for a rather extended amount of time and it wasn't unlike her to make visiting the gardens at Buckingham a priority when she returned from a long trip. It was, however, usually something she did in solitude so being asked to join her was a bit of an unsettling surprise.

"Keep in mind that they store the best shovels in the west shed and don't accept whatever the first offer is in terms of wages," Marco continued with a wink in the rear view mirror. "You come from a long line of green thumbs, sir - make them pay for it."

There was humor to be found in such teasing words, but Killian felt his smirk pause at the corner of his mouth. He knew it was a foreign idea, but for a moment, he had to wonder what it might be to reverse roles with the man currently chauffeuring him around. _Normal_ , he thought as he peeked out the window to find the sight of a calm Hyde Park morning. There would be no military banquets or charities galas to attend. There would be no nail biting public speeches to give and no life lived under a magnifying glass. The constant dilemmas of designer clothes and other items of an elaborate lifestyle would be gone as well, a realization that made Killian shift guiltily in his seat as he glanced down at his navy blue suit and high end footwear.

He knew to wish for something other than what he had wasn't fair - there were likely thousands of people not of royal blood who would swap places with him in a heartbeat. His life defined what it meant to have plenty, but once in awhile, it was tempting to envision what it would be to make do with much less.

"You know, aside from that one time you found yourself in a swell of trouble for digging up tulip bulbs at six years old, you and Liam have always loved visiting your grandmother here," Marco told him, peering back with a gentle smile once the car was set to park near a side gate. "Try to remember that today, your highness."

It was easy to be grateful for an ally like Marco and Killian quickly reminded himself of that often neglected fact. It was very characteristic of the man to make light of things in a way that set the world at ease and it was a skill that came highly valued as far as royal confidantes went. Killian nodded kindly in response before reaching for the door.

"You're sure you don't want me to get-"

"I've got it, I've got it," Killian replied with a grateful expression. "I'll have one of the staff let you know when I'm all finished up here. Gran's probably got a handful of meetings set up today so might not take long."

"If you'd prefer, I can arrange a driver who can wait for you," Marco offered. "I'd hate for you to be held up on my account, sir."

"No trouble at all, mate," Killian countered as he shoved the door open. "After all, I might need someone to grab a beer with me to celebrate my job promotion when we're all squared away here."

The remark was clearly sarcastic given the turmoil his drinking habits had landed him in recently, but also because he knew Marco wasn't much for alcohol. Another moment of taunting passed between them as he pondered what it would be like to be walking into a tavern at that instant rather than a garden lined with red blossoms. _A lot less stressful and much more certain,_ he thought as his tongue swiped over his lip.

"Very well," Marco chuckled, his hand lifting in a faithful salute. "Happy to take you whenever and wherever you need to go, sir."

Killian gave the man a final fraction of sarcasm in the form of a salute before ducking out of the car and allowing his stiff wingtip oxfords to hit the smooth walkway. Flexing his toes inside the new leather shoes, he reached up to adjust the buttons on his suit coat. It was a nervous gesture - a fact he was well aware of - but the moment of fidgeting allowed him to summon his typical calm sense of bravery before heading toward the flowers.

Few men would be intimidated by thirty nine acres of blossoming plants and after the recent blows his ego had taken, there was no way he was going to lose his nerve over something like this.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled to himself as he started walking. "Pull it together, mate."

He had to admit that the garden looked beautiful. Every bit of the land seemed to be in bloom with crimson petals of spring tulips and the bright yellow of iconic buttercups. In the few places where the lawn was actually visible, he caught sight of freshly manicured grass and the occasional palace worker who was surely responsible for the pristine upkeep of the palace grounds. Nearing the spot where he knew he'd locate his monarchal grandmother, Killian took one last rapid glance to his right toward the rowed flower beds of white lilies. There wasn't much to them yet, but the boldly green stems were firmly rooted and supporting the crisp flowers that would soon open fully. His heart swelled a bit with the knowledge that they would bloom each year with the memory of his mother in mind, something the queen made sure of when her sign-off on the flower plans rolled around every March.

The pure white hue of them almost instantly made his thoughts turn to the girl who'd been wearing a dress of that same color the night before - not that his mind hadn't been pondering her back and forth all morning anyway. The gentle breeze took hold of the plants, causing them to sway in the way she had while drifting through the palace courtyard. The memory brought a hazy smile to his mouth as he forced his eyes away. He'd already spent several hours thinking about who he now knew to be the admiral's daughter since rising from a sleepless bed and he could only hope that exhaustion wasn't scribbled all over his face.

After all, he wasn't supposed to be focused on _that_.

"Oh, Maurice, you know I have all the faith in the world in you. Tulips are tulips, just as they've always been, and we must have them here as long as the growing season will allow. Make sure the new staff is properly briefed on caring for them. It won't do to have them wilting before we even reach the garden party weekend."

The voice making such adamant yet friendly demands was one he'd recognize anywhere, but especially in the regally controlled and micromanaged garden. Killian grinned at the way his grandmother had so easily fallen right back into her element. It was a skill he still never fully understood, but it was easy enough to respect as he watched her point out a shrub that needed trimming and reach down to brush soil off the edge of the walkway. He was sure that the onlooking groundskeepers were about to have matching panic attacks as two of them rushed to assist her. In typical fashion, she waved them off as she patted the earth surrounding some newer flowers in total oblivion of her unyielding spectators or their insistence that a queen shouldn't have to tend to little jobs bordering upon yardwork.

That was simply Gran - stubborn as possible with menial tasks despite being the formal leader overseeing much of the free world.

"Now, go tell those men to watch it with those pruning shears," she said, pointing toward a long row of shrubs. "We don't want the bloody things cut down - just taper the sides and move along."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Maurice agreed, glancing in Killian's approaching direction with a nod. "Consider it done. I'll let you get on with your morning audience - and as always, it's wonderful to see you back safely."

Her smile was appreciative as she took one final scan of the garden, her eyes astutely observant and the grin on her face a happy one. Killian took a small bit of joy in seeing his grandmother in a predictable state - dressed in her usual pastel colors with a matching spring hat while trekking through the royal flower beds with little to vex her.

Well, at least that's what he hoped to be the case. The Queen was never that simple to read.

"Well, well, look who's prompt and prince-like this morning," she taunted lovingly, patting his arms as he leaned down for the expected and appropriate greeting - a kiss to each cheek and a quick bow of his head. "Quite proper too even. Well, aside from your continued forgotten task of shaving your face, I see."

"Fair morning to you as well, Gran," he grinned as his hand ran over the stubble on his chin. "You don't think it makes me look dignified?"

"It makes you look like you just returned from the desert once again," she answered with a smile. "However, that venture was a rather honorable one so perhaps I'll allow this new look you're being so stubborn about."

The quick wink she offered him before reaching down to smooth the blossoms of a few light purple blossoms that he didn't know the name of. Gardening wasn't a pastime he took part in all that often anymore, mostly because it was a hobby he always traced back to his mother. She'd been an avid botanist, constantly planting and arranging whatever was in bloom at Kensington before assisting the Queen in doing the same at Buckingham. Flowers were one of the things his mother and Gran had first found common ground on all those years ago and Killian knew that the lilies that continued to blossom each spring at the palace would always lend honor to their bond.

"Beautiful day though so far, despite the rain we were warned about later on," she carried on. "It would be a pity for unfit weather to ruin your afternoon."

" _My_ afternoon?"

"Well, I told you I have a job for you," she beamed as she brushed dirt off her hands. "I figure it's best to make sure you and your brother earn your keep, my boy, but I've got a feeling you'll be okay with the manner in which I'd like you to do so - well, _part_ of it at least."

Killian let a sense of bewilderment settle over him as he tried to imagine just what she might say next. He currently wasn't very keen on going _anywhere_ with his older brother, but the mystery still goaded him as he lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm listening, Gran."

"Well, as you know, Killian - I'm not getting any younger and while this last trip to Canada was a lovely one, I realized just how tiring this constant travel is getting," she explained delicately while examining one of the small garden plots. "Upon speaking with your father and Liam, we've been entertaining the idea of lessening my public duties and delegating a few to you as well as your brother."

"Oh," Killian said in consideration, raising an eyebrow. "Like….what exactly?"

"I'm not about to ask you to speak at Parliament or wrangle swans on the Thames," she told him, offering a teasing reminder of a few tasks she oversaw. "Although, I do know the warden is in the market for extra help tracking down the cygnets this season. It's getting quite difficult to locate them the past few years, the poor things."

Killian shifted in his shoes as he tried to deduce just what exactly she could be hinting toward. There had been a few assignments and events he'd been obligated to over the course of his royal career that were certainly less desirable than spending a week by the water in search of mute birds. Most of them were appearances that required a public speech, something he'd struggled with for years and an entrained fear that she was constantly coaxing him to face. He made a mental note to discuss that detail with her later to avoid being blindsided again like he had been the night before.

"I know you missed last year's event, but it truly was a delight to see," she smiled in reminiscence. "I do wish they'd more strictly enforce the citizen regulations during nesting season. Those little hatchlings need some quiet space."

"Okay, but, Gran-"

"What I'm trying to say is that I think you'll be rather fond of the addition to your title I'd like to offer you, but there is-" she continued calmly, a slow smile on her lips. "-one little caveat."

"Hmmm," Killian replied with his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

"Well, though I do believe you will quite like the overall assignment and most of the obligations that come along with it," she carried on. "The short venture I'm going to request you make today is one I know you won't exactly delight in."

"Okay….fine. Just-" he finally caved. "-what can I do for you, your majesty?"

"Sassy as ever, I see," she chided cheerfully. "That sarcasm isn't likely to serve you well today."

"So you've said," he grumbled in feigned exasperation. "But what-"

"I need you to attend a youth rugby scrimmage as a representative of my patronage-" she smiled in encouragement that soon faded. "-and I need you to visit Eton College to do so."

Killian felt his breath catch hard in his throat as his whole body seemed to weaken. He knew the color was likely draining from his expression as his teeth worried his bottom lip, but he maintained his proper posture and respectful eye contact with the well loved monarch. Summoning whatever tenacity he could manage, Killian offered a silent nod as he tried to ignore the possible nightmare the upcoming day was about to turn into.

The rugby related duties were something he'd willingly undertake, but returning to the school he'd dropped out of over ten years ago was going to be a little more difficult to endure.

"Very well," she said happily. "Marco is picking Liam up within the hour and then the pair of you can be on your way. Now, help me find some of those gardening gloves I know must be sitting around. Those weeds in that third plot aren't going to pull themselves and it doesn't appear to be on anyone's task list today."

Killian took a steadying inhale of the fresh air as he tried to settle with the news that not only would he be visiting a place that had set the stage for many of his bad decisions in the past, but that he would be making that journey with his prudish older brother at his side.

 _Bloody hell,_ he thought anxiously. This was definitely _not_ the promotion he was expecting.

###### 

The high pitched sound of a whistle and a wave of cheers signaled the end of the first half as the afternoon continued to drudge on. The part of the match she'd been paying attention to - well, the very _small_ part given how preoccupied her thoughts were - was strangely staggering in a way she hadn't actually expected. It was almost surreal to see the sandy blonde haired younger brother she hadn't seen since the accident dash up and down the field with athleticism she herself hadn't inherited.

He played fullback, which didn't really clarify much for Emma other than that particular role left him holding the ball quite often. The fiercely calculated stare he wore as he dodged opponents held that trademark Nolan quality - the one that was cloaked in determination and unending fight. A small, proud smile landed on her lips as he shoved off opponents and held his ground. The sprinkle of light rain that had begun to fall just prior to the half ending had started to gain gusto and Emma couldn't help but muse over how quickly her younger brother ended up muddy as he powered through the dwindling minutes.

Her mother had looked at him familiarly, a gaze full of love that seemed to also be wondering just how they'd go about getting the stains out of his light colored uniform. Emma didn't comment as much as she wanted to. It was the first time in ages she'd seen the woman look so carefree and happy. Allowing her that much for the afternoon was the right thing to do.

"I wish I'd known it was going to storm like this," she mentioned to her mother as the team left the field for a break. "Probably my own fault for expecting clear skies in London."

"Oh, Em, it's not like you're going to melt," her mother teased as she pulled her jacket tighter, her smile unwavering. "Last I checked, we don't have the 'wicked witch gene' in our family."

"Hmmm, _very_ comforting, Mom," she smirked with a quick glance upward. "Maybe I'll go see if I can find an umbrella somewhere….or one of those plastic poncho things at the very least."

"Okay, but hurry," her mother replied as she tried to get a visual on Neal. "I'd hate for you to miss the next half and I'm sure your brother would too."

"Right," Emma said after a second, her eyes scanning the field as she forced a weakly unconvinced smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

Navigating her way out of the widely occupied spectator area was easy enough and as water began to form tiny puddles on the ground, she couldn't help but scold herself again for neglecting to check the weather. Raindrops fell with a slight chill on her skin, creating a shiver as she pushed through the surprisingly large crowd toward the parking zone.

Her loose blonde waves were damp by the time Emma reached the fence line with no luck of finding overhead cover and she wondered where the driver who'd brought them might be waiting. They'd insisted that they didn't need security courtesy of the man behind the wheel - a kind but younger chauffeur than the one who'd met them at the train station - and he had agreed to meet them at the north end of the field once the final score was posted. Emma now realized just how foolish that accord was as she trekked toward the only building in sight - one that looked like it might have an extension from the roof where she could wait out the unexpected rain.

At least, that's what she'd been hoping for as she moved with purpose in the direction of that possible protection. That's what she'd been _hoping_ for right up until she ran _right_ into a fellow watcher with a force that knocked them both to their knees.

The groan that escaped her as she braced her hands on the wet dirt was muted the second she found her bearings and lifted her head to locate the source of what had caused her feet to trip all over themselves. Falling oh _so_ gracefully and muddying her favorite dark jeans was certainly not something she'd anticipated, but the reason for her stumble was completely beyond anything she could have _ever_ expected.

"Bloody he-...oh….h- _hey_."

The voice that owned those awkward yet simple words was one she'd spent hours thinking about since the last time she'd heard it. The accent was smooth but had a rugged quality that sent sparks dashing across her skin. Her eyes widened as she pieced together the sight of the man she had been consumed by from the first instance where they'd shared this deer in the headlights state. The color drained from her face as Emma silently wondered just how it was possible that they kept meeting like this.

Regardless of how, he was definitely standing right in front of her. The high and mighty Prince Killian of Wales - and damn, he looked _good_.

Her body resisted moving as her eyes clung to him, examining all the little details she hadn't been able to see in their rather odd circumstances at the previous night's event. He was taller than her, enough that she had to angle her head upward to keep his gaze. She quickly realized how much she wanted to hold onto his serious stare and all the deep blue curiosity it seemed to possess. His lower lip quivered slightly as he processed the moment with similar disbelief and it was an almost average reaction that shifted Emma's mouth into a smile she bit back. Little was typical about this situation, but the way he seemed as perplexed as she was made her think that perhaps she wasn't the only one suffering from surreal shock.

Well, at least his confused state and the normal citizen clothing he was sporting - clean cut jeans, a dark sweater with rolled up sleeves, and a black baseball cap marked with a logo she didn't recognize - certainly made it seem that way. The leather jacket he was also sporting certainly added to the odd equation in a very unfair fashion.

"You….it's….I _mean_ -"

"Aye," he nodded, remaining on his knees in a position that matched hers. "I….I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, _uh_ ….and you're-"

"It's okay," she finally said, clearing her throat before glancing down at her now filthy clothes. "I'm fine, Your Maj-...I _mean_ , Your Highness. It, umm, _is_ 'Your Highness', right?"

" _Ah_ , well - yeah…. _or_ just….Killian," he stammered with a quick scratch of his ear. "And you're-"

"Emma, _whoa_ \- is that….you?"

They both flinched at the sound of another voice, her head turning rapidly to meet the man behind the question. It didn't take long to put a name to the face - although the surprised expression belonging to the approaching royal wasn't much of a match for the completely mortified one she'd just torn her eyes away from.

 _Both of them_ , she realized as she absorbed the presence of the nation's most eligible bachelor brothers. This was _not_ happening.

"Oh - well, yeah….it's-," she stuttered, gasping weakly as Liam extended a hand to assist her. "-I'm….I _just_ …."

"These fields get mighty muddy with the tiniest bit of rain," he told her with a sympathetic smile as she moved back to her feet. "I suppose a warning to walk with caution would have suited you."

"Yeah, probably," she blushed, trying to give her attention to his kindness rather than to the burning feel of his brother's eyes hinging on her every move. "Thanks, _uh_ , Your Hi-"

"Let's stick with 'Liam' for now, lass," he laughed, tilting his head to the side. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she assured him as she peeked down at her mud soaked pants and then quickly toward the younger brother. "I'm….okay."

"I'd introduce you, but it appears you two have met," Liam said with a smirk, his eyes going from her to Killian. "In the most interesting of ways obviously."

Emma let her sight drift slowly back to the prince who'd perplexed her since she stepped onto the London bound train. The faint clouds above him seemed to be moving slowly, _very_ much unlike her thoughts as they raced in a million directions while her eyes fixated firmly. His hair was longer than his brother's - perhaps even too shaggy and wild for a royal as it flipped out over the collar of his leather jacket just beneath his concealing hat - and his gaze was set in an unwavering blue that consumed her without a second thought. He drew a steadying breath as the flicker of a knowing smile teased his mouth, a gesture than made her stomach flip flop without so much as a comment from his clever tone. It was fitting to be locked in such a silent staring contest with the man who'd teased her into careless admissions the evening before and as he nodded subtly, a reply she didn't dare offer slipped through her mind.

 _Oh, you have no idea_ , she thought - and truthfully, maybe even _she_ didn't understand just how complex those words would soon become.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this one! It was a fun chapter to write and I am really excited for the next one :] enjoy!

It was only a practice match and one for a bunch of Eton lads he didn't actually know - two teams of young men representing the Alma Mater legacy he had once been destined for - but despite the particular scrimmage’s insignificance, Killian soon found himself fiercely focusing on the field. He'd been seeking distraction at first, knowing that the Queen had sent him out on this afternoon task as a reminder that he could still inspire others on at least some athletic level. He'd been an avid rugby player himself during the small handful of years he'd had the opportunity and he had found out part way through the second half of this particular match that the role he had once played was the same position of Admiral Nolan’s only son. Liam had made sure to mention that fact while Killian felt his eyes drift to the spectator space near the goal line below. His stare had narrowed briefly, zeroing in on the girl he definitely shouldn't be wondering about. The sounds around him seemed to fade away as he studied her and the anxiousness she seemed to possess.

Her nervous quirks were mesmerizing and frankly a bit adorable - everything from her quick smiles to the way she kept subtly tucking her hair behind her ear. He was almost sure he'd caught her gaze flickering once or twice in his direction, a realization he was trying _awfully_ hard not to hinge on. Forcing his sight back to the sport, Killian crossed his arms in silent frustration as he somewhat registered his brother’s cheers of encouragement.

He truly had no idea what Liam was all that excited about - hell, he'd lost track of the score a _long_ time ago.

“Pity about all this rain,” his brother said in a loud voice that rivaled the noise of the crowd. “Can't say I was expecting a storm today.”

He didn't respond to his sibling’s weather related small talk as he blinked rapidly, pulling his attention from her _once_ more as he adjusted his well worn hat. He was usually glad for the fraction of notoriety the old baseball cap provided, but as he let his sight fall on her again, Killian admitted silently just how much he _didn't_ want to blend into the small crowd.

He _wanted_ her to acknowledge him. He wanted an opportunity to catch her eye and perhaps perplex her the way she intrigued him. Most of all, he wanted a chance to fix the blubbering, incoherent, downright _ridiculous_ conversation they'd had right after colliding beneath the boldly gray sky.

“So I heard about your chat with Gran,” Liam said casually, making eye contact as the players left the field for a short break. “I’m happy for you, brother. I don’t know that she could have selected a better man for the job.”

 _She could have picked you,_ Killian thought with a weak smile. Guilt swept over him as he observed his brother’s congratulatory expression. It wasn’t fair to constantly interpret these situations as a competition, especially because he knew Liam’s sentiment was genuine, but it was difficult to stray from old patterns of thinking. Killian knew he could carry any role the Queen bestowed upon him, but he wasn't naive enough to believe he was often the first choice for any royal task.

The fact was that in most things, he’d always play second fiddle to his brother. It was part of his birthright job description.

“I suppose there’s far worse things she could ask,” Killian replied casually. “Catching a match here and there at Her Majesty’s behest probably won’t be all that bad.”

“Try not to sound _too_ enthusiastic,” Liam teased, elbowing him once. “If your royal duties include spending afternoons watching amateur rugby, I’d say you’re in an optimal position, Killian - even if some of that spectating means commuting to Berkshire once in awhile.”

Killian cringed slightly at the reminder of where they were, his eyes darting around nervously. He’d never told Liam the full extent of just why he’d opted to complete his schooling via private palace tutors instead of returning to Eton for his final term all those years ago. The trouble leading up to the decision to leave the prestigious school behind wasn’t something he liked to recall, especially because the foolish choices he had made could have landed him in much worse circumstances than they actually did.

He’d been barely seventeen at the time and after struggling to find his niche with friends for a few years, he’d finally found comradery with a group of fellow rugby players. Their studying had been mediocre, but they played hard when it came to the sport and each victory and even most losses ended with them sneaking off campus once darkness fell. They typically wound up at a tavern with very lax regulations only a few blocks away and while Killian himself wasn’t initially that interested in drinking, it wasn’t long for his standards to lower on that principle _and_ a few others.

By the time the season ended, Killian had found himself rather fond of a few things - cheap rum, eight ball pool, and the company of a woman he now hoped he’d seen the last of.

“Looks like traditions are still strong here, brother,” Liam commented with a nod toward the goal, his words subtly braggy as the older boys posted the higher score. “Seems like the Nolan lad has quite the talent though - perhaps we’ll have to ask him about it this weekend.”

“Uh,” Killian said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. “This….weekend?”

“Yeah, when they get back to the palace,” Liam answered as he offered a matching expression. “I believe the admiral said his son would be joining them in London this weekend before they head back to Leeds. You know they’re all staying at Buckingham for a few days, right?”

Killian felt his mouth drop open as he silently wondered just how he hadn’t pieced this news together yet. He was grateful that the chants from players on the field had stolen Liam’s attention before he was forced to give a reply that might raise suspicions he wasn’t sure he could explain. A million scenarios of just how the very unexpected next few days could unfold flew through Killian’s head as he allowed himself one more glance toward the girl who was somehow shaking up his world. Her hair tangled in the breeze as the chill lingering from the rain brought color to her cheeks, drawing out a grin that he immediately felt taken by. Killian was in the middle of pondering how many different smiles a girl like this one might possess when she quickly peered upward at him. The smirk her lips formed didn't answer any of the questions piling up in his mind, but it certainly made his breath hitch - and dealing with _that_ all weekend was going to be a royal duty he might not be able to endure.

“No,” he answered with a mumble Liam likely didn't hear. “But I suppose I do now.”

It was barely seven by the time Emma arrived back at the palace gates, the sunset coloring the sky in light reds and a dusty purple hue that gave evidence of the passing storm. They'd returned from the school grounds a few hours earlier with Neal and with a few parting gestures from the regal brothers they'd run into - a wave with a kind smile from Liam and a much more uncomfortable nod from the other blue eyed royal who was still vexing her in the strangest way. She'd spent the entire drive back thinking about the mysterious prince with the baseball cap and the jet black Ray-Bans shades, reminders of his intent stare and apologetic stammering making her lips battle the threat of an unexplained smile. It had been almost too easy to entertain such a recollection while her mother went right into interrogating her brother about the happenings in his life since they'd seen him last. It was these silent wonderings, however, that had led to the solo outing she was able to plan just after dinner.

With her parents consumed by the presence of their son, she'd managed to hit the nearest bookstore with the help of an unexpected but very appreciated ally.

“Thank you again, Mr. Gepetto,” she said as the black sedan came to a halt. “I hope you were serious when you said that ducking out for a bit wouldn't cause trouble for you.”

“As serious as I am about you calling me ‘Marco’ rather than _mister_ anything,” he grinned, placing the vehicle in park and unclicking his seatbelt. “Allow me to get the door for you, Miss Nolan?”

“If we can stick to ‘Emma’ _instead_ -” she smirked. “-then I guess I’d be okay with that.”

“I'll make note of it,” he laughed, hurrying around to open the back passenger door. “It was a pleasure accompanying you….Miss Nolan.”

“Well, I’m grateful for the help,” she sighed, shaking her head at the way he _hadn't_ accepted her instruction. “Goodnight, _Marco_.”

“To you as well,” he said with a slight nod. “Happy reading.”

Emma offered him one last thankful wave before clutching the cloth tote that contained her purchases a bit closer. It had been a relief when she'd reached the register to see that the charming and rather vintage shop would provide her with a bag that would easily conceal the literary material she’d picked up. It wasn't that she was completely embarrassed by what she'd set out to find, but it was more the fact that she had ended up with more than just some light reading. Emma had convinced herself as she flipped through a few magazines and two biographical novels about the royals that she was conducting a sort of research project - though perhaps ‘research’ _wasn't_ the most honest term.

Truthfully, she just wanted to know a little more about the man who'd owned her attention since that night on the balcony. She merely wanted to understand just what about him was pulling her in so _magnetically_ \- and, _well_ , the small collection of text she'd procured would definitely allow the mystery to begin unraveling.

Her parents hadn't been trying to contact her since she'd left the dining space in search of fresh air, a realization she soon decided was her father’s doing. He had always been accommodating of the quiet time she required to recharge her mind and she would always be thankful for his willingness to give her a break. She knew they were thrilled with Neal’s short term company and for now, she opted not to begrudge that as she started up one of the cobblestone walkways that led to the garden’s small pond.

 _Just like home,_ she thought with a small sigh as her mind drifted to recent memories of the house back in Yorkshire. Well, not her _actual_ home, but the place that had masqueraded as such for a few months anyhow.

The space was peaceful in the low light of dusk and she took in the solitude carefully, her feet moving with utmost caution as she located a lone bench. The sound of crickets was faint and the distant view of multicolored flowers offered a serenity that would certainly suffice. Taking a seat and allowing subtle relaxation to sweep over her, Emma wondered briefly just how long it had been since she felt somewhat carefree. Drawing a quick breath, she propped her bag open and reached inside for a few of the items she’d decided to buy. With a shaky breath, she tried to ignore the guilt that prodded her as she sat the gossip magazines in her lap. Looking at the brightly colored headlines, Emma reminded herself that they probably weren’t the most credible source, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from picking them up.

The first one was completely mainstream and likely quite vague, but the feature story titled _Home with Honors: HRH Prince Killian Returns_ had made her smile oh so slightly. There was a picture of him as well, though it did look slightly outdated. His hair was shaggy and his beard wasn’t exactly well trimmed, but his camouflage gear and properly equipped flight helmet certainly made him look the part of a proper member of the Royal Army. She didn't know enough about air combat to decipher what sort of helicopter he was manning, but he definitely seemed to know what he was doing. He wasn't paying any mind to the photographer who had been allowed to chronicle that militant moment, but was instead focusing intently on the control panel beneath his hands. His touch hovered above the numerous dials and buttons, a courageous soldier suddenly all she could label him as.

She saw it then - the bravery and the brokenness that seemed to drive his determination. It was all there in a single picture. He wasn't merely a prince in that photograph - he was a pilot. He was a _leader_.

The other glossy covered issue was something of a tabloid - a fact that now made Emma roll her eyes - but seeing the bold yellow letters that spelled out a title story claiming _The Spare’s Royal Temper is Back_ had been difficult to ignore. The true selling point, however, was the vastly different picture printed just below those words.

He was clearly on the tail end of intoxication, his dark hair a total mess and his clothes obviously disheveled. This snapshot had been taken from a distance at what seemed to be an alternate entrance to the palace. She wasn't completely sure, but as he followed Liam into the grand building, he also appeared to be wearing the marks of a fight - a slightly split lip and a bruised cheek. Tension seemed to be thick between the brothers in the printed image as Emma noted the space between them and the frustration etched in Liam’s features. She quickly flipped through the pages to find the short article outlining the story behind the photo and her eyes widened at the vague explanation of a bar brawl and a hot-headed prince who was falling back into old patterns - or _so_ the reporter had written.

Emma felt her head shake slightly in disbelief as she read the bulleted list of exclamations that littered the page. This particular journalist almost seemed to be bullying the prince a bit as everything from his slanderous word choice to his blatant assumptions sent Emma into a tailspin. The way two types of stories about the same complex man made her opinion waiver was astounding and she tried to straighten out the facts from the falseness as she peeked back at the first article. The task of reading between the lines seemed near impossible, but she needed to know.

Who the hell _was_ this guy really? How was she _ever_ going to piece together the puzzle that was this unpredictable prince?

“Nothing like the royal treatment, right, Em?”

Emma looked up instantly at the sound of a voice she knew well but didn't hear much of these days. The chiding lines and happy tone belonged to her younger brother, Neal - and as much as she wasn't really in the mood for his chosen idiom, it was strangely comforting to see him stroll out onto the garden path.

“I guess the hospitality is pretty one of a kind,” she quipped in return, smiling softly as she swiftly shoved the magazines back into her bag before placing it by her feet. “Glad to see you're avoiding it too.”

Neal chuckled at that, his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jeans as he strolled up the sidewalk. It was difficult to deny just how much he resembled their father - everything from his strong jawline to that purposeful walk. His hair was still sandy colored, though it had darkened a bit over the years, and it was pushed to the side in a familiar style. His eyes were a light green shade that matched hers and she knew they were likely filled with signs of teasing. He’d finally been able to dress down once they arrived back in London and he appeared to be quite relaxed in a gray hooded sweater and a newer pair of dark blue suede sneakers. His smile was contagious and though Emma wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to the hint of stubble growing on his face, she was starting to admit that her little brother wasn't all that _little_ anymore.

It was another rapid change she wasn't ready for, but the one thing she’d learned long ago about time was that it didn't halt for emotional preparation.

“So,” she smirked. “Is this the part where I say something witty about the ‘prodigal son’ returning?”

“Well, ‘prodigal’ _might_ be a stretch,” he started thoughtfully with a flash of his teeth. “But I'm always game for your sisterly sass.”

“Yeah, _well_ ,” Emma offered, trying to fight the flustered blush warming her face. “Something…. _witty_.”

“Hmmm,” Neal chuckled, taking the empty seat at her side. “That’s all you’ve got, huh?”

“I'm out of practice,” she said with a gentle elbow to his side. “So who sent you to hunt me down?”

“Hey, what makes you think I'm on a recon mission? Can't a guy check in on his big sister?”

“Well, yes - but we _both_ know that whenever you visit, Mom keeps pretty close tabs on you until you leave,” Emma reminded him, her smile amused when he scoffed at what they both knew to be the truth. “So if you're out here by yourself, I'm guessing it's because she’s sent you to find me.”

“That was always her go-to plan of action, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, raising an eyebrow. “Some things never change.”

“Oh, Em, she's not _that_ bad. Mom’s just….well, _Mom_ ….and we’ve learned to live with that and Dad’s-” he replied as he leaned back against the bench. “-I think he….he seems….better?”

Emma nodded lightly as they shared a quick glance of understanding - one that proved they both knew just how much they'd nearly lost. Neal had missed as much school as possible without failing over the course of the recovery time and he'd visited several weekends once they'd finally moved from the hospital’s around-the-clock care back to the borrowed house. Neal had always been close with their father - though it _really_ wasn't much of a secret just how much their mother adored him - and the accident had threatened the bond Emma knew her brother valued. His eyes in this moment of conclusion regarding their father seemed a bit uncertain though and Emma knew he was looking to her for reassurance that the man who’d raised them wasn’t at risk anymore.

“He is,” she told him, squeezing his arm. “He’s happy again….and lord knows know how long we’ve all been waiting to see that.”

“Well, I think you get credit for most of that, sis,” he said with a grateful expression. “You’ve done so much to help him…. _and_ Mom throughout all of this. I hope they both realize that.”

Emma could hear the hint of pain in his words and she knew he'd obviously spent a fair amount of time beating himself up over not being present for more of the difficult moments they'd endured. It made her heart sink to see him quietly fighting that guilt. She'd felt irritated over her brother’s actions in many instances of their past, but this wasn't one of them. As comforting as his support might have been, Neal was fifteen and _she_ was his older sister. It was her job to protect him and she’d spent plenty of time convincing herself that keeping her brother clear of the worst parts of their father’s recovery was the right thing to do - _even_ if it wasn't.

“I’m not the single handed savior of the Nolans,” she groaned, her posture shifting as he nudged her. “Truthfully, we all played a part in it, Neal. We all did the best we could.”

“Or more than, in your case, Em,” he countered, standing his appreciative ground. “I gotta say that it makes me curious about just what’s on your agenda now that he’s back in commission again though.”

“Hmmm,” she stalled with obvious knowledge to what he was asking. “What do you mean?”

“You've just….given up a _lot,_ Emma - basically put your life on hold to come back here and take care of everyone,” he continued. “So I guess I’m just wondering what's next. What are you going to do for _yourself_ now?”

Emma held his sight for a moment, praying silently that she could somehow deflect the question she _still_ didn't know how to answer. Everything had changed so much since she’d returned to England and leaving her goals across the pond wasn't something she liked to reminisce. Though she'd come home to be supportive - to do the _right_ thing - the facts were still uncomfortably true.

She’d failed at following her own dreams. She had shoved aside all of it - completing her education and chasing the independence she’d never had the option to know while growing up. She'd abandoned the plans she'd so delicately crafted with little hope that reviving them would _ever_ be possible, but here was her teenage brother - telling her she was surely allowed a second chance at finding success.

It was deciding to take that opportunity that suddenly seemed _quite_ daunting - and as he gave her a hopeful gaze, she wasn't totally sure she could make a commitment to _anything_ except agreeing to wait out a long weekend at Buckingham Palace.

“I guess….when I figure that out-” she finally answered. “-I'll let you know.”

“Well then - that's a start,” Neal smiled softly before turning to look toward the pond. “So besides hiding, what are you doing out here?”

Emma glanced toward the cloth tote she was using to conceal just what she'd been up to, biting her lip as she prayed he wouldn't try to peek inside while awaiting her answer. She knew she couldn't explain her reading choices without her brother launching a very curious inquiry and this was definitely _not_ the time for that.

“Just….getting some air I guess,” she fibbed, reaching for the bag’s strap. “Are you heading back in?”

“Hell no - not without you,” he scoffed, wincing when she slapped his chest in warning about his mild language. “I was kinda of hoping we could help each other out with this whole palace survival thing. I mean, I don't even know who to ask for the wi-fi password, Em.”

“You never fail to keep your priorities in line,” Emma laughed as she rose to her feet, picking up her bag as casually as possible. “Come on - let’s see if we can solve your internet crisis.”

“Ah, a ‘teaming up to save the technological world’ mission then,” he grinned, tapping his chin as they started to walk. “We can call it ‘Operation-”

“ _Please_ no code names,” she grumbled, shoving his arm. “They really aren't helpful.”

“But they _are_ amusing-” he chided. “-and that might be just what we need to make it through the next couple of days, Em.”

Emma sighed in defeat as she realized just how right he was. The acceptance of staying in one of the spare wings of Buckingham was still quite deterring, especially when she knew the possibility of running into the royal man she'd set out to study hung tauntingly in the unfamiliar air. Making light of the next few days was likely the best method for ignoring the uncomfortable situation she'd fallen into and as she grinned at her brother’s teasing remarks, she suddenly found herself beyond thankful for his offer of an alliance - even if he _did_ propose the ridiculous mission label of ‘Operation World Wide Web’ while wiggling his eyebrows.

Approaching darkness had blanketed the regal grounds surrounding Killian as he huffed and puffed, his lungs heaving for breath as his running pace slowed to a stroll. His hands felt heavy on his hips as he walked down the paved path concealed by the freshly trimmed shrubbery of the legendary garden. The weather brought by the sunset had been perfect for a quick run and he'd allowed himself to seize the solitude presented with the mild temperature in hopes of drowning out the noise of the day. His feet plodded the ground fervently as he navigated the route with the most cover. Night wasn’t far off and while the promise of little light normally gave him an opportunity to jog in peace, a recent experience he'd had with the false assumptions of hiding beneath a dark sky made him quite skeptical of being permitted to exercise without company.

Then again, any chance of being alone with his thoughts _was_ squandered when Liam decided to join him.

“ _Whoa_ , brother,” Liam said as they halted, equally gasping for air. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were training for that marathon coming up….which we do still need to discuss - the opening address and what not.”

Typically, Killian would have reveled in the moment of insignificant victory and at the idea of his often superior brother struggling to keep up. He should have known Liam would find a way to shove that opportunity aside with a not so subtle reminder of an impending royal commitment. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he let out a hard breath as sweat rolled down his back.

“Aye, suppose we do,” he managed as he stretched his legs, brushing off his sibling’s words in distraction. “I think I'll go around once more - perhaps just to the south end of the pond and back. Up for it?”

“Think I'll leave you up it,” Liam answered with a tired smile. “I'm going to head back home. If I see Marco, I'll let him know you'll be along soon.”

“Sounds good,” Killian nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Liam confirmed. “Bright and early.”

Killian feigned a smile as he watched his brother trek back toward the doors that were immediately opened by palace guards. Brushing his damp hair away from his eyes, he waited until Liam was out of sight before starting up the path he'd said he was going to use for one last lap. Yet as the sun finally fell below a distant horizon, Killian found himself needing to walk rather than run. The entire day had been a blur - everything from his morning chat with the Queen to the Eton match - and now in the absence of so much of what made him royal, he finally found the silent setting he had been hoping for since the morning he'd argued with Liam.

He’d acquired the blue Nikes on his feet after attending the company’s annual launch of a new line as an endorser and hearing the soles of those shoes fall upon the stones underfoot was soothing in a way. He settled into a steady, rhythmic stride while making his way toward the quiet and closest end of the pond. The journey was much shorter than the race worthy one he'd just completed alongside his brother and as he reached the bench that had always been stationed along the sloped bank of the shallow water, he felt glad that he was alone for the brief jaunt.

Slumping down on the wooden seat and glancing out toward the glassy pond, he realized that he truly didn't know what agenda Liam had been alluding to before taking his leave. He had been distracted during the lax dinner with Cora and their father a few hours earlier - a detail of the meal that was probably very fortunate considering the hostility that seemed to be lingering - and though he knew he was supposed to be ready to go early the next morning, he had no clue why. It wasn't crucial to know really - no matter what the event or obligation was, he knew he'd been expected to dress _and_ act as accordingly as always.

Wearing a crisp, clean cut suit while offering a charming smile was the routine. Standing beside but a step behind Liam was the standard. A desire to be _anywhere_ else would likely be the thought drifting through his mind - as per usual.

Killian steadied his breath as a memory prodded him, the picture vague in his mind as he thought back to a time his mother had lovingly reminded him of his place in line. She’d had a way with it - making him feel needed in a way nobody else ever could.

_“There's always been more than one child meant to carry on royal legacies, Killian. Just because they were second born didn't mean they weren't important. Henry the VII was one and King George - even your grandmother had a younger sister. Liam might be the heir, but you are just as historical as any king will ever be. Don't forget that, my sweet boy.”_

Killian sighed shakingly at the recollection of the woman who'd always had perhaps too much faith in him. She had always seen it - his possible strength and his potential for good. He wished silently that he deserved it, but he’d accepted deep down long ago that it might never be enough.

 _He_ would probably never be enough.

The lightposts that dully illuminated the garden’s walkway began to glow before his mind sunk too far into a detrimental spiral and with a final exhale, he rose to his exhausted fee. Eight in the morning would likely arrive far too early and tracking down Marco to take him back to Kensington was still on his to-do list. His steps shuffled once and though he expected to hear the sound of his shoes on the solid ground below, the noise was instantly halted by the scrape of something along the path he was about to follow. Realizing that he'd unintentionally kicked whatever the object was, Killian narrowed his vision before bending to see just what had fallen victim to his foot. With his fingers smooth on the item’s surface, it took only a second to figure out what he’d literally stumbled across.

It was a book - a _very_ well known one he noted as his eyes followed the flow of the title and his stomach dropped. The edition looked quite new though the story written on the pages definitely wasn't. He had been haunted by the summary of this particular novel and harassed by endless journalists seeking a comment from the royal family when the book had been released over a decade ago. The author who’d chosen to chronicle his young life had certainly not left out details of Killian’s rebellious years and the biography the man had chosen to call _Prince Killian: The Untold Story_ had loomed over him for years now. The picture on the cover was an older one, but taken just before he entered his officer training at Sandringham. The life in his eyes portrayed in the photograph felt worlds away as he traced the gold letters with his exasperated eyes. It took a minute of analyzing the hardback tale for a question to form in his head, but as he flipped the text over, he found himself needing an answer.

How had this book ended up beneath a bench at Buckingham - and just _who_ did it belong to?

Killian peered to each side, quickly noticing he was the only one in the vicinity aside from the several guards manning the doors and the few security personnel circulating through the area. It wasn't likely that it had been abandoned by a palace employee seeing as how many of them likely already knew their fair amount about his ways. His fingertips skimmed the spine of the text, following the cover back to the top where there was a piece of paper protruding from between the pages. He tugged gently on it, immediately recognizing the tan and orange slip as a train ticket. It was an odd type of bookmark and his focused stare ran carefully through the information printed on the standard stub.

It was a few days old - a first class pass from Leeds to Kings Cross. He read through the few details and quietly noted the time the ride had departed as he zeroed in on the bottom of the smooth paper. Killian had endured his fair share of undercover train travel over the years and while the appearance of the small boarding pass was quite common, the name printed just beneath the date certainly was _not_. His eyes widened as chills ran down his arms, his hand tingling as he realized the railway passenger turned book owner was someone he truly wasn’t expecting.

“Emma Nolan,” he read quietly, his muscles tense and tired. “Bloody _hell_.”


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter totally spiraled out of control so I apologize for how long it's taken to get it posted. It's a lot longer than I originally planned (which I hope is a good thing). Enjoy! XOXO

The street was busy as Emma stomped along the sidewalk, her black rain boots slightly damp and her mind in a fixed state of stubbornness. The weather had been shifting back and forth all day, the sky calm one moment but the sharp wind blowing the next. It wasn't a huge surprise that a light rain had finally started to sprinkle and it was easy to be thankful for the warmth of the light, mesh-lined gray jacket she had zipped tight around her frame. As she took a moment to glance back down the winding road she'd just traveled by foot, Emma realized the durable material keeping the storm off her skin was currently the  _only_  thing she could muster any gratitude for.

It was likely she was acting a bit dramatic and definitely a little selfish, but she also firmly believed she had grounds to be both. The not so casual conversation she'd been blindsided with just before dinner hadn't been a true betrayal or a major deceit, but it had certainly been unexpected and frustrating in a way she wasn't ready to discuss with anyone. The news her father had announced a few hours earlier was an annoying reminder of just why surprises were not high on her list of favorite things.

No, Emma liked plans. Well, except the  _new_  one her family now had - the one that included staying in London for the next two weeks.

The splashing of car tires through the puddles was a rhythmic distraction and her feet continued to carry her down the shop lined road as she pulled her hood up over her head. She wasn't really sure how long she'd been walking - it wasn't like she had left the palace with much of a goal in mind. Glancing up at the dreary sky, she merely hoped that maybe the walk would help her ignore the echo of her father's words in her head.

" _I know you aren't the biggest fan of metropolitan London, Em, but I have to be here - at least for now. The countryside has been kind to our family and I'll miss it too, but it was never meant to be permanent. This job is a big change for all of us, but I have to give it a chance and I need you and your mom with me on this."_

She knew he was right - now that he'd approached what might qualify as total recovery, there wasn't much left for any of them in the quiet confines of the Yorkshire property. Sure, the move there had required a lot from her, but it wasn't as if she had a whole lot - or  _anything,_  really - to go back to now. She let out an exasperated sigh as the drops of precipitation grew larger, her steps slowing as she reached a street corner. He'd looked so honest when he made the hopeful request for her support and as irritated as she'd been, denying him the opportunity to save his career wasn't the right thing to do.

" _Can you just….try, Emma? Just for a few weeks while we sort out a schedule?"_

Watching her breath hang briefly in the cool air, Emma recalled the nod and weak hug she'd given him. Sacrifice was the name of this recently recurring game and for now, she had to keep playing it.

Looking quickly to the left, she caught the appearance of a small establishment crafted in gray bricks trimmed with deep red paint. The door was solid mahogany, hanging on black hinges that had definitely been well tested. The rounded windows alight with a warm glow seemed to call to her and while the overhead posted name of The Round Table didn't immediately tell her what the building's purpose was, the handful of tipsy patrons stumbling out onto the sidewalk  _certainly_  did. A place like the one she'd paused in front of was probably well known for its gin or assortments of well crafted lager, but her addled mind immediately went the one indisputable option.

Alcohol - and she  _honestly_  didn't care what kind.

Reaching forward to prop open the heavy door, Emma ducked inside the apparent pub without a second thought. As she looked around the instantly easy space and noted the surroundings - a weathered bar counter, occupied pool table, a soccer match blaring on a distant flat screen, and amusingly accented population - she knew this was the perfect place to toss back a beverage or two. Few people seemed to give her much notice and nobody appeared to realize just how out of place she  _definitely_  was.

 _Thank god,_  she thought as she approached the row of stools just below the wood bar top.

"Evening, m'lady," a dark haired bartender greeted, his smile framed by a thick beard. "Braving the storm, eh?"

"Oh,  _umm_  - yeah I guess," she said in return, hoping she didn't look too nervous about venturing into unknown territory. "It's not too bad out there yet, actually."

"Well, tumultuous enough that you're seeking-" he returned, reaching for a glass and narrowing his eyes pensively. "-a little whiskey, I'm guessing."

"Wow," Emma laughed. "Am I really that obvious?"

"I've been at this a long time is all," he grinned. "On the rocks or neat?"

"Not picky," she shrugged. "I don't need anything fancy."

"Nonsense, lass," he disputed with a wave of his hand. "After all, you're only in London…. _well,_  not often, right?"

"Ah,  _very_  transparent I guess," Emma sighed, accepting the glass tumbler he set down in front of her. "I should probably work on my local dialect."

"Nah, I say you own it. It's not often we get Americans in here."

Emma smirked at his little reassurance, taking a sip from her drink and feeling the whiskey burn in the best way as it slid down her throat. She decided not to refute his assumption that she'd come from the states since she sort of did courtesy of her college experience. She hadn't expected to find any sort of company when she'd left the palace - after all, the intended endgame had been to avoid pretty much everyone. It was relaxing to be in this environment though and the lumberjack type of guy making conversation seemed easy enough to talk to.

"I have to admit I haven't been to an actual bar in a while. This seems like a place for regulars."

"Well, some of them far  _too_  regular, but I guess anyone who's been pouring drinks for nearly ten years at the same pub would say that," he explained. "Kind of a hazard of ownership I suppose."

"Wait, you're…."

"Arthur Pendragon - proprietor and long standing pun," he smiled. "Hence the, uh….the name."

It took Emma a moment to piece together what he meant, but once it clicked, her face lit up with realization he'd likely witnessed many times. The subtle shake of his head and barely embarrassed eye roll told her he'd ceased to see the endearing charm in Camelot cliches long ago.

"Well, I can't say I've ever been served whiskey by the once and future king," she replied cleverly. "I take it the name wasn't your doing?"

"Definitely not," he confirmed, tossing a coaster on the bar as a resting place for the glass she'd yet to put down. "My wife's actually."

"My compliments to her wit then."

"I'll be sure to mention that next time I talk to her," he said with a hint of melancholy. "She's….not been around for a bit."

"Oh, I'm….sorry," Emma returned, her cheeks rosy with regret for bringing it up. "I just assumed-"

"Not your fault, lass," he told her kindly. "It's okay. I suppose most relationships are tested in one way or another at some point. Sometimes it just takes a bit to sort itself out."

"Yeah, I-" Emma said with familiar understanding. "-I know what you mean."

"But, enough about my sob story. I'm the one who should be offering an ear - part of the job description after all," he deflected, a bit of his happier demeanor returning. "What brings you to Victoria Street this evening, Miss America?"

"It's Emma actually," she said in amusement, tapping the sides of her glass. "I guess I just….needed to take a beat."

Truly, she didn't have a real purpose for why she'd all but stormed out of the palace earlier that night -  _well,_  not a fair one, anyway. The quarters at Her Majesty's abode were beautiful and vast enough that she's managed to find plenty of personal space while also avoiding running into a certain prince. Emma knew he didn't actually reside at the building currently accommodating her and her family, a detail that had been learned from a late night internet search instead of a recently bought book she'd  _already_  misplaced. Still, she couldn't stop wondering when she might stumble into another awkward encounter with him - or  _who'd_  be doing the literal stumbling this time.

She wasn't sure she wanted to chance finding out and that had been a decent reason to slip away for a bit - or at least,  _that's_  what she kept telling herself.

"Well, when the world's got you down, a drink never hurts," Arthur continued. "Sometimes a chat with a stranger is helpful too. That is, of course, if you'd like to talk?"

Emma exhaled, biting her lip as she tried to decide just how honest she should be. She didn't know this guy - or anyone else in the area, for that matter - and perhaps it was best to keep it that way. Getting used to being in London seemed wrong, especially since she was still hoping her stay wasn't permanent. The whole idea of her being at the bar was suddenly a bit surreal. Though she'd wandered into this hole-in-the-wall tavern on a whim, she had felt more relaxed in the past twenty minutes than she had in days. It was likely a beginning side effect of the alcohol, but it was also the fact that this place was different - simpler and secluded to a degree she was truly appreciating.

Still, she needed to stay beneath the radar for now and being too candid with the hospitable bar owner currently pouring her another glass of Irish whiskey wasn't going to help her quest for anonymity.

"I guess I just needed to avoid responsibility for a few hours," Emma offered, her voice vague as he tilted his head in amusement. "Is that awful?"

"There are worse reasons to imbibe-" he countered with a nod toward one of the rowdier corner tables. "-and I hardly doubt your venture here will be as unacceptable as the display  _that_  group of sodding fools tends to put on."

Peeking over her shoulder in the direction he'd just gestured, Emma caught a glimpse of the pack of rather obnoxious men he had just mentioned. They'd clearly been indulging in a high bar tab long before she arrived and their frustration over the display of athleticism on the screen in the corner was plenty loud and  _quite_  profane.

"They certainly don't like whatever team is winning," Emma commented. "Are they always like this?"

"More or less - but usually more," he grumbled, tossing a bar rag off to the side. "I'm rather sure they don't realize that this was actually televised almost a week ago or that it's a preseason game, but it's likely they won't be pleased to find out. That said, I ought to make the rounds. You'll be okay for a moment?"

"Oh - yeah, I'm fine," she assured him with a grateful smile. "Thanks for the drink."

"On the house, lass," he said in return with a good humored salute. "Stay as long as you like."

Emma felt her shoulders relax at the welcoming reception she had managed to find. She knew as she held the glass firmly and glanced around the dim space that she could get used to the solitude of a place like this - at least while she had to remain in the confines and close vicinity of royal world. She realized this bar could be her sanctuary of sorts - and so it was only fitting she tried it out again the following night as well.

Arthur had been glad to see her return the following evening, her escape from the palace aided by a very helpful Marco just after she said goodnight to her parents. Neal had returned to school earlier that day, a fact that made sneaking out a bit easier. She'd been somewhat sad to see him head back into one of the many buildings at Eton, but he'd given her a huge hug and a small stack of rather suspicious documents before doing so. She stuffed them into her jacket when he'd offered her that one line of explanation followed by a wink.

" _Just in case you've yet to truly make up your mind about the next step, Em."_

She hadn't dared decipher what he meant by that until she arrived back in the secluded bedroom she'd been set up in at Buckingham, but as she dug the stapled papers out of her zippered pocket, it was clear what he was trying to do. There were a variety of the unexpected documents, their professionally bold headers and traditional logos making it immediately clear that they were brochures for higher education. She smirked to herself while flipping through them, noting that Neal had done his best to cover all the bases when he'd likely swiped them from one of the offices at Eton. There was information on a few universities - Oxford and Cambridge, both of which she was positive she'd  _never_  be admitted to - and also a couple of others that gave details about institutes like King's College and Imperial. She'd skimmed the text in acknowledgement of her little brother's thoughtfulness, but eventually stowed them away in the concealed pouch of her lightweight parka. The pamphlets remained there, hidden alongside her accepted reality that completing her degree wasn't in the cards any longer while she downed a quick glass of top shelf bourbon at that same pub.

She told herself she could deal with the brochures, Neal, and everything else later - a decision that perhaps sparked her current and third trip to the cozy bar a few blocks away.

"Anything good on tap?"

"Well, there's a frustrated face if I've ever seen one."

Though the voice was equally happy to welcome her, it didn't belong to Arthur. This one was full of the clever kindness she'd learned was all Ruby - the girl who was a few years her junior and one of the regular weeknight bartenders. They'd met on the first night Emma had ventured into the building when Arthur had stepped out to take a phone call from the estranged wife who still seemed to have a hold on him, a fact that Ruby had explained while pouring them each a shot of something she definitely hadn't requested.

That had become somewhat of a theme in Emma's life recently - accepting things she hadn't asked for. If she was going to have to keep doing so, she decided that it was probably okay to use a little alcohol to help it all go down easier.

Taking a sip of the offered liquor hadn't been too difficult - a brand of vodka bottled in France, she eventually learned - as she kept perched on the stool just across the bar top from the long haired brunette with the fiery personality. They'd chatted sporadically for a couple of hours, sharing small details of their lives and laughing over battle stories they'd encountered through years of travel and relocation.

Ruby was from the Great Lakes part of the states and had grown up in a small town surrounded by the tall trees of some very remote woods. She'd been in the care of a single mother until she hit junior high, but had then moved to live across the Atlantic with a very traditional grandmother in the European countryside. Ruby claimed the loving elderly woman had saved her from herself after some rather promiscuous years and had entertained her endlessly with tall tales about sorcery and werewolves. She'd left the old cabin a few years earlier when her grandmother passed, bouncing between a few nearby countries before landing in England. Ruby had quite the colorful past and while Emma thought the girl's adventures were far more interesting than her own, she couldn't help but be glad they'd met and bonded - even if it all might be only temporary.

"So," Ruby started, grabbing a glass from beneath the counter and raising her eyebrows. "What's got you down, Goldilocks?"

" _Really?_  What's with the nickname?"

"Hey, I call it like I see it and right now-" Ruby responded as she searched the top shelf for a bottle. "-I see a disgruntled blonde who has come to this Camelot inspired oasis to soothe what troubles her."

" _Very_  poetic," Emma acknowledged, setting her jacket aside. "But perhaps we better stick with 'the pissed off traveler who just learned her plans have gone to hell'."

"Ah, I like mine better," Ruby laughed, tapping her chin. "But you know, I think there's a specific drink for the type of person you're describing."

Emma made herself comfortable, something she regretted the moment her new friend plopped a bottle of cinnamon whiskey down between them. Ruby's red lipstick outlined mouth curved up into a deviant smile that immediately had Emma shaking her head.

"Not happening, barkeep."

"Oh, come  _on,_ " Ruby coaxed. "We don't get a new shipment in until tomorrow so most of the decent brands are running low anyway. That is, unless you'd rather forego the hard stuff and I can crack open a bottle of that shitty home brewed beer Arthur has been trying to get everyone to buy."

"I think I'll pass on the Crimson Crown Ale, thanks," Emma replied. "But I'm pretty sure shots of that firewater aren't the best alternative-"

"No,  _no_  - no shots, but an exclusive cocktail mixed by yours truly," the girl told her as she grabbed a few other labels of booze. "You've gotta live a little, Emma."

"Or die of alcohol poisoning," she countered, her eyes warily regarding Ruby. "What's in this drink anyway?"

"That's yet to be totally decided," Ruby grinned as she grabbed a jar of cherries from below the counter. "I do have a few name options workshopped already though."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I'm thinking maybe like 'Big Bad Something' or 'Sweet Little Sleeping Curse'," she carried on, illustrating the ideas with finger quotes and snatching a nearby shot glass. "I vaguely remember learning how to make this drink called a 'Red Riding Hood', but it's got a certain vodka base and Arthur prefers to hoard that stuff in the back. I'm pretty sure it's fuel for drowning his sorrows after last call."

"Cute, but I have no idea why you'd go with such a whimsical theme," Emma replied. "I don't remember the hangover from that stuff being  _anything_  remotely like a fairytale."

"Yeah, I gotta say I don't either," Ruby said, a small laugh escaping her as she shoved the random ingredients aside and looked toward the fast opening main entrance. "But, if this  _was_  one of those classic storybook tales, we'd now have the role of evil villains filled."

Her nod toward the door was brief as she grumbled some below the breath remark. It was a shift in the girl's demeanor that made Emma wonder and she couldn't help but peer over her shoulder in curiosity. It didn't take long to pinpoint just who had suddenly put her new friend in an irritated mood - the raucous and rather ignorant group of men she'd been warned about the first time she'd sat upon her current stool. She tried not to stare despite their loud attempt to gain the room's attention, a disruption that made Ruby sigh loudly as she downed a bit of the spicy alcohol they'd been debating.

"Why don't you guys kick ever them out?"

"Well, despite their generally asshole behavior, they're good for business," Ruby explained. "Sure, they can be annoying, but their bar tab climbs much higher than any other band of idiots who wander in regularly."

"So this happens a lot?"

"Just a few times a week so it's manageable for the most part," she continued while counting napkins. "I'm going to grab that last case of cheap beer from the back really fast - lord  _knows_  they'll probably be over to order some any minute now. Hang out for a bit?"

"Yeah, of course," Emma smiled. "Planning on it."

Ruby returned her grin, tying her hair back as she headed for the hall that must have led to the back storage room. Glancing around, Emma soon found her attention falling back on the rowdy men now chatting over a pool table between their rants regarding the game still playing on the television. She was so busy trying to decipher just what made guys like them tick that she failed to notice one of them slink up to the bar at her side.

" _You-"_  he started, his almost predatory stare zeroing in on her as he tapped his fingers on the bar. "-aren't from around here, are you?"

"Ah….good call," she replied casually, silently praying that he'd leave her be. "Just stopping in for a quick drink before I hit the road."

"Hmmm," he smirked. "Where might a fine woman like you be going on a night like this?"

Emma felt herself shift away ever so slightly from the smell of fading alcohol hanging on his flirtatious breath. She was  _really_  in no mood to spell it out for him, but as he held her involuntary gaze, it became apparent that he wasn't about to take a hint.

"Back to where my family's staying - I'm on a trip with them," she tried, biting her lip as she made an obvious glance toward the clock. "In fact, I really should get going-"

" _Oh,_  come on, beautiful - it's still early," he replied as he inched closer. "Have a drink with me."

"Ummm, thanks….for the offer, I mean, but I-"

"No excuses," he cut in, his words wrapped in an unsettling whisper. "Have a drink with me."

Emma felt her shoulders straighten as she fixed her eyes on him, cataloguing his appearance like she'd need to describe it accurately to the police later on. She wasn't sure if it would be because he'd crossed a line with her or because she'd beat him senseless as a result, but she was extremely certain that everything from his suspicious eyes to his thick black coat made her  _very_  uncomfortable. Cowering when confronted was never a road Emma liked to travel though and despite the way he was making her skin crawl, she couldn't back down from his proposition without a hell of a retort.

"I'm not sure if that's a request or a demand," she returned firmly. "But I can promise you that I'm  _not_  interested."

"You really can't say that yet though," he chuckled. "You still haven't heard my offer."

"I'm pretty sure I haven't given you  _any_  indication that I'd like to."

"Just  _one_  drink, beautiful….or two, and then I assure you that  _I-"_  he drawled as he reached for her glass. "-can make you forget all about your family."

"Okay, pal, I know we just met and all, but I'm going to need you to back the hell off."

"Hmmm," he persisted as he traced her arm. "You've got a little fire in you, don't ya? I have to admit I kinda like that."

"I  _said-"_

"I believe the lady said  _no,"_  another strangely familiar voice cut in. "Step down, mate."

Emma realized quickly that it wasn't Arthur and her head swirled with confusion - why  _did_  she recognize this voice? Her boundary crossing opponent turned briefly, letting out a hearty chuckle before slamming his half empty beer bottle down on the bar. Emma chanced a look at the other man and though she was somewhat irritated at the 'white knight' status he  _apparently_  wanted to earn, her guard dropped rapidly the moment she learned just who was attempting her rescue.

 _No way_ , she thought as her mouth parted. What the hell was  _he_  doing there?

She zoned out for a minute, her eyes hooked on just who had an interest in defending her honor. The few words exchanged between him and the persistent jerk at her side were ones she didn't fully catch as she tried instead to sort out why of all the pubs - or perhaps even  _gin_  joints - in the world, he  _had_  to walk into this one. It was a thought similar to one once vocalized by a handsome actor in some black and white film her mother loved and she was attempting to recall which one when two fateful words from the protective man a few feet away cut through the haze.

"Try me."

The chaos that followed was rapid and it took Emma a few moments to realize that a fight was breaking out, but as she watched the guy who'd been hitting on her take a hard punch to the jaw, it became quite clear that she was about to witness  _exactly_  what drunk and disorderly truly looked like. She froze for an instant, her view moving back and forth between the fists being thrown as she gasped at the scene. She hated merely standing by in disbelief, but getting dragged into diffusing a situation she didn't totally understand wasn't wise.

It was obvious that getting out of there would probably be the safest choice, but as Ruby's pleading eyes found hers, Emma stepped forward to do….well,  _something._  She just didn't know what.

"Get the  _hell_  out of here, Gideon," Arthur growled as he managed to shove the instigating man back out the way he'd come in. "Take your crew with you."

The onlookers were almost too quiet as they watched and Arthur took a deep breath before turning on his heel, announcing there'd be a free round courtesy of himself. The distraction gave Ruby enough time to pull the unsuspecting opponent of the bar brawl into a secluded hallway, but not before waving toward Emma in a last ditch request for assistance. Her feet moved automatically, navigating her through the throes of people elbowing their way up to the bar. The dark haired girl Emma had come to know as an ally was huffing for air by the time they met in the back door corridor.

"Hey, can you….take him to the back? Arthur is about to pour out a handful of apology shots and he's gonna need help," Ruby asked, trying to keep him upright. "I just need like fifteen minutes."

"Yeah - of course," Emma agreed as she moved closer. "Whatever you need."

Ruby nodded gratefully and bolted, leaving Emma to observe the aftermath quickly over her shoulder before glancing back toward the disheveled haired prince - a choice that soon caused her flabbergasted reaction. His eyes were a wild blue and wrought with anguish as he steadied himself against the wall. The cut just below his brow was already swelling and had started to bleed in a way that mirrored his injured left hand. His fingers were deep red with knuckles that would likely bruise and he heaved for air with jagged, deep breaths. The way he briefly looked at her was riddled with embarrassment as he appeared to realize who she was as well.

"Hi."

Her voice was timid upon offering the out of place greeting, but she had no  _clue_  what else to say to this man - the one she'd been avoiding who was now cloaked in muffled anger and a spirit that was  _much_  less than that of most royalty.

"Hi," he breathed, his mouth trying on a weak smile before he ripped his sight away again. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He lifted weak fingers to his face, touching his cheek and realizing there was blood making a path down his cheek. He sighed with frustration before glancing back toward her and Emma fought to find some…. _any_  reply.

"The surprise is mutual," she managed. "Are you okay, Your High... _uh_ …"

"Killian," he responded, defeat heavy in his reminder. " _Just_ Killian, lass."

 _Dammit,_  Emma thought as her mind clouded. This was sure as hell  _not_  how she'd hoped her night would go.

###### 

Killian couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite this exhausted by his birthright. Well, perhaps that wasn't the total truth. He'd felt similarly tired the morning Liam had confronted him about his behavior at the bar, but somehow, even that head splitting scolding hadn't stopped him from returning now to that very same place a few hours after sundown. It had been days since the bar scuffle the greedy tabloids had still managed to pick up on and as soon as he had managed to escape the presence of his observant brother, Killian had felt the familiar urge he'd been prodded with several times over his adult years - the need to feel  _normal._  He'd wondered silently as he snuck down the several shortcut alleyways toward The Round Table if the solitude of a quiet establishment and a stiff drink might offer just that, but he hoped even more so that he might still be welcome at such a place.

His Converse sneakers plodded the pavement as he recognized the fact that he'd likely never be  _totally_  banned from the tavern he was headed for. After all, if anybody could knock him off his royal pedestal with a glass of rum and a few honest words, it was  _definitely_  Arthur - the man who was his reluctantly understanding confidante and older cousin by about three years.

They were related through the belated princess with Arthur's father being his own mother's oldest sibling. The restrictions placed on the royal family had been tested many times by Katherine's insistence that her young sons maintain a solid bond with her side, especially the several cousins they had through her bloodline. Killian had always been grateful for that. Arthur seemed to comprehend the struggle both he and Liam faced when it came to the crown, even though he'd never know an obligation like that himself. It was a relationship unmatched by many others and despite the fact that Killian hadn't always made their pact of family all that easy, Arthur had never shut him out - though he had  _every_  right to on several occasions.

It wouldn't have been the first relative to lose faith in the spare to the heir, but fortunately, things had never turned out that way with the bartending man he somewhat resembled and truly loved. Killian knew that as difficult as it might be, he once again needed to make things right while he could.

Liam had been busy when he decided to slip away from Buckingham Palace, his regal and slightly inconvenient home away from home. He understood why his older brother felt it necessary to keep temporary quarters at the grand building while the admiral's family was visiting, but Killian's own reasons for staying in one of the lavish guest rooms was something not even he could totally explain. Perhaps it was for some unknown desire to not be the only prince lingering on the Kensington grounds or maybe it was a need to stay in the know about whatever military changes might be underway, but deep down, he knew his hope that he might run into a certain blonde was  _definitely_  part of it.

For the record, he  _hadn't_  seen her - and it was driving him  _crazy._

Sure, the royal property his grandmother lived upon was huge, but not so much that he shouldn't have caught a glimpse of the green eyed girl over the few days since the afternoon at Eton. He'd speculated that she might be avoiding him and while he wasn't totally sure why, he had to admit that he'd been a little nervous to locate her - and  _that_  had  _everything_  to do with the book he had concealed beneath a pillow on the four post bed he'd been using for some constant tossing and turning.

He blinked rapidly as he paused outside of the door, tugging a beat up flask from his pocket and taking a quick swig. He'd never been great at dropping his pride to offer an apology, but he knew this was important - and he could only pray that his quick dose of rum would allow him to remember that once he entered the building

"About time you showed up."

Killian had barely stepped inside the dimly lit space and entered the back room office when he was greeted with chiding words from the owner himself. He deserved the taunt he supposed, but it didn't keep him from tossing Arthur an automatic eye roll. The man was busy penciling something on an order form, but the task didn't prevent him from holding the upper hand in their bantering exchange.

"I suppose I ought to be a  _bit_  more welcoming as the owner of a small business and all, but-" his cousin offered distractedly, finally peering toward him with a raised brow. "-I've only recently had that glass out front repaired."

"Aye," Killian sighed with a slump against the doorway after he set an envelope next to the paper. "I'm hoping this might cover that - and if not, that you'll let me know."

Arthur almost instantly slid the folded paper pouch back across his trademark desk in the direction it had come from. Killian lifted an eyebrow before returning a steadfast stare, but it was soon apparent that his relative wasn't about to accept the gesture of a few higher end bills. It truly was a pathetic way to attempt making amends and one that definitely shouldn't be necessary. The healing battle wounds that were finally fading from his own guilty face were proof that he owed Arthur at  _least_  that much - even if he'd known from the start that the proud bar owner wouldn't take it.

"You know that royal salary of yours has never been worth much around here," his older relative told him. "I'm merely stating the hope that we won't have to have this endearing conversation again for a while. I mean, the chairs around the tables opposite that new window  _do_  need replacing, but I'd rather-"

"Got it, mate," Killian nodded, pressing his lips together. "For the record, I'm sorry-"

"I know you are-" Arthur smiled. "-and that's the  _only_  thing that makes it okay."

He still wasn't totally sure why this man tolerated him, but as Arthur flipped his pencil toward the doorway in salute, Killian reminded himself to stop taking that for granted.

"Now," the man sighed as he found his feet. "How about some rum and ranting? Sounds like we both need it."

"Aye," Killian agreed. "You have no idea, mate."

"Well, I'm excited to learn then," he returned, slapping the envelope of cash against Killian's chest before heading for the hallway. " _You're_  buying - oh, and grab that bin of clean glasses on your way up."

Killian smirked to himself as he lifted the box, his feet trailing after the owner. He'd entertained the idea of a life like this many times before - how it would be to swap out kegs and care for a humble business like the one his cousin had built from nearly nothing. He had always appreciated the way Arthur could assimilate him with a simple comment or a thoughtless instruction. Sure, most royals wouldn't stand for a world centered around menial tasks, but Killian thrived on the idea of being ordinary.

It was an odd envy he held for people like Arthur, but it was also a desire that was very disrespectful to the crown - which is  _exactly_  why he chose not to mention it to anyone.

"So, how's your brother? Still constantly worrying about you?"

"Among other things," Killian shrugged as his cousin took the rattling crate of fragile glass. "You know Liam - saving the free world one  _weary_  soul at a time."

"Aye," Arthur laughed as he turned toward the shelf housing a few bottles. "I suppose it's a hazard of such an authoritarian job. What else is new with you?"

Killian halted with a sigh, his eyes scanning the bar instead of conjuring up an answer that wouldn't raise suspicion with the man who'd just asked him a casual question. Arthur knew all about the upcoming royal events courtesy of his bond with Liam and he wasn't one to often seek out small talk. He knew his cousin was attempting to learn what had taken him so long to wander back by the corner pub and while he wasn't sure that lying was the best route, he knew one thing for sure - he couldn't tell Arthur about Emma and the way her presence as well as absence seemed to be consuming him.

 _There wasn't much to tell anyway,_  he thought quietly. She was just visiting and she'd be gone eventually so divulging what little information he had seemed futile. Bottling it all up for now was the best plan - and lord knows he'd gotten good at  _that_  over the years.

"Just trying to fill a few roles for Gran," he offered vaguely. "Mostly little stuff - taking over her rugby patronage and attending a charity thing later this week."

"Good for you," Arthur nodded, pouring them both a glass of the bar's best rum. "Liam mentioned you have some palace visitors currently?"

The color drained slightly from Killian's face as he cleared his throat before taking a swallow from the fresh drink. He wasn't sure how much his annoyingly honest older brother had said, but he instantly wished Liam had for  _once_  kept his mouth shut. His sight drifted toward the opposite end of the room, finding Ruby soon enough and wondering if he might use needing to catch up with her as an excuse to avoid this conversation. It took only seconds of watching to realize the dark haired girl was busy tending to another patron, one he  _almost_  recognized. Long blonde hair, nervous posture, a laugh he could barely hear….

"Anyone you know?"

Killian had been so briefly entranced by who he imagined the girl sitting at a fair distance could be that he almost thought  _that's_  who Arthur was referring to. Of  _course_  he wasn't though - he was inquiring about Admiral Nolan's family. Killian straightened his shoulders as he tried to focus on the discussion at hand.

"No, it's,  _ummm,_  just a….family from up north," Killian answered, tearing his eyes away from what was obviously a half-assed hallucination. "They're leaving soon I believe."

"Oh - that's….not what I heard."

He was about to ask Arthur what the hell that meant when he caught the sound of a voice he was truly in  _no_  frame of mind to deal with. He was relieved that the tone wasn't directed at him, but slightly unsettled that its usual venom laced accent had been replaced by a pathetically sultry one. Such seduction was often aimed toward Ruby - who was perfectly capable of putting the man who caused frequent commotion  _right_  back in his place - but this time, the heavy flirtation was aimed toward the girl Ruby had been chatting with. His eyes narrowed as he watched for a moment and his blood seemed to simmer without explanation. Sure, it was beyond annoying to see Gideon strutting around like he owned the place - though Arthur had told him  _many_  times that wasn't the case - but for some reason, this particular display was even more infuriating.

"Shit," Arthur said as he pieced together what was happening. "I didn't think he'd be in tonight."

"It's fine," Killian assured him, biting his lip as he tried to convince himself of that as well. "Who's Ruby talking to over there?"

"Ah, you mean the blonde? Lass from across the pond somewhere," his cousin answered. "She's been in a few nights this week."

"Has she just recently become the object of Gideon's affection?"

"Hey," Arthur said quickly, shaking his head. "Not worth it, Killian."

"What?"

"You  _know_  what," he stared, lifting his brow. "We established long ago that Gideon is an idiot and though his intentions likely aren't the best, I'm quite positive  _that_  girl can take care of herself."

Killian glanced the girl's way once more, trying to find the belief that the man behind the bar was correct. He wasn't about to jump in and fight a battle that might not be necessary, especially given how his last scuffle went, but he knew standing idly by while Gideon acted like an arrogant casanova wasn't something he could manage. There were really only two plans of action and since the first one hadn't panned out so well in the past, he opted to take the second as he finished his rum.

"I should head out," he told Arthur, dropping the envelope on the counter and rising to his feet with a smirk. "For your trouble - or perhaps the kind I caused you."

"Smart ass," Arthur grumbled with a shake of his head. "Be safe, mate."

Killian nodded once before turning toward the door in brief contemplation. He could easily leave through the back, sneaking out the hidden exit as stealthily as he'd entered. It would probably even be for the best since any attention he and Gideon might pay each other probably wouldn't be the positive sort. He tried to remind himself of all of this as his feet carried him toward the main door, a path he regretted the second he noticed just how close the other man had moved to the girl he felt he needed to guard.

Maybe it was the way she appeared to be so uncomfortable in the close confines his nemesis had trapped her in or maybe it was the blatant refusal he heard her offer as he passed by. Maybe it was even simply Gideon's failure to yield as she continued to push him away. Whatever the cause was, Killian felt his grip pause from reaching for the door handle and his body abruptly turn back around.

"I believe the lady said no," Killian stated in a low tone, his glare full of warning as his rival looked up. "Step  _down,_  mate."

Surprise filled Gideon's face as a cunning grin took over his mouth, a sure sign that this wouldn't be civil in the least.  _Bloody hell,_  Killian thought as his skin prickled. He didn't need this tonight.

"Well,  _look_  what the palace spit out," Gideon sneered. "Back for more, are ya?"

Killian felt his breath hitch as he clenched his fists, trying to quell the anger that was tempting him to end their exchange of words with a swift right hook. The feeling was a well known one - he'd never gotten along with the man who was trying his hardest to pick a fight. Gideon Gold was an abolitionist with a penchant for drinking, gambling, and taking cheap shots in rugby matches. Their dislike for one another had been ongoing for years, but the feud they'd once endured had only just come back into play with the recent fight. Killian had tried to hold back that night, but when Gideon had decided to drag the royal family's name through the mud, he'd snapped.

He couldn't let that happen this time though. He  _had_  to walk away - pride be damned.

"No," Killian replied, clipped and firm as he refused to break the man's stare. "I'm not here to fight you, Gideon, but you best not give me a reason to think twice about that."

"Well luckily, you won't need to, your highness. When we're through here, you won't be doing much thinking about  _anything."_

The challenge was there, thrown between them with the threatening curve of the man's smirk. Killian felt his temper spike as his defenses rose, his lips pressed together as he tried to brace for whatever came next. He hadn't come here to start a war, but he also hadn't expected to see the girl he couldn't stop thinking about stuck in the line of fire. He couldn't let Gideon win this one - and it was that conclusion that pulled two very bold words from his mouth.

"Try me."

It all happened shockingly fast - the sound of glasses breaking and a gruff yell of Ruby's name that sounded urgent. The dark haired girl dropped the box of beer bottles instantly and bolted to where Arthur had suddenly appeared, his cousin's arms fighting to shove him back toward the hallway. He'd barely gotten in a solid hit when he realized he'd taken one as well, his feet carrying him backward weakly as his thoughts blurred. Killian realized then that he'd lost sight of the girl during the commotion, a detail that wasn't helpful even though the vague observation of Arthur pushing his rival out the door was. He managed to hobble back toward the office courtesy of Ruby and his back hit the exposed brick wall with a thud while he tried to right himself. He was attempting to do that much when he was joined by Ruby and another girl - well,  _the_  girl.

 _Emma,_  he thought as his heart pounded violently.

He didn't hear much as the dark haired lass usually manning the bar spoke to the blonde he truly didn't want seeing him like this, but when Ruby sped back down the hallway and left the pair of them alone, Killian realized he didn't have much of a choice. She peered up at him with questioning eyes, taking a few steps forward with caution.

"Hi."

Her gentle greeting was shy, her teeth pressing against her bottom lip as she waited to gauge his response. He felt truly miserable, but it wasn't fair to act like an ass when she had opted to stick around for this.

"Hi….didn't expect to see you here."

"The surprise is mutual," she answered after a moment. "Are you okay, Your High... _uh_ …"

"Killian," he assisted, not feeling the least bit worthy of a royal title - not that he'd ever want her to address him as such anyway. " _Just_  Killian, lass."

"Right," she started in a nervous tone, clearing her throat. "So….the back?"

"Over-" he barely nodded, his head gesturing toward a dark room. "-there."

She took his arm gently, her touch a light brush of fingers that created a loose grip around his bicep. Trying not to lean into her, Killian took the several stumbles that would land them in a storage area he'd only seen a couple of times before. The overhead lights flickered on, forcing him to squint as he took in the new environment. It was mostly boxes stacked high alongside a wine cabinet his cousin kept well stocked. The letters on the labels came into focus after a moment and he tried to read a few, his efforts eventually halting when she ushered him toward a lone chair by a sink in the corner.

"Sit down," she told him with a tilt of her head. "Your hand is cut-"

"It's….fine-"

" _No,_  it's not," she argued, her voice direct but caring. "Now,  _sit._  Let me….just let me help you."

He gave up rather fast, closing his eyes to avoid the glare of the fluorescent bulbs burning far too brightly before the sound of running water forced his exhausted stare back to her. She'd pulled a light blue towel from some box behind him and had started to wet the material, obviously intending to assist him in cleaning the blood and shame off his face. She'd probably be good at the former, her insistence in doing so making him think she might be even more stubborn than he typically was. It was the second part that she likely wouldn't be able to help him with.

"Here," she offered, lifting the cloth toward his eye. "Chin up."

He did as requested, inhaling sharply at the feel of a damp towel on his fresh wound. She seemed to find his reaction a bit entertaining and it poked at his crumbling pride just enough for him to respond.

"You're not supposed to be here."

He realized almost instantly how misstated his words were. The quiet scoff she offered told him so too as she rinsed the rag quickly before returning her attention to the large cut. He truly had no right to set boundaries on whatever she chose to do within or outside palace walls and he was reminded of that as she swiped the cloth along his red stained cheek a little harder than was needed.

"Well, if my conclusions are the tiniest bit correct then-" she retorted, pausing when he hissed a low sound of discomfort. "-neither are  _you._ "

"Conclusions?"

"I'm observant enough to know that wasn't your first fight with whoever that was," she clarified, her sights now studying his hand. "In fact, I think I remember seeing a recent photo of you that proves that."

"Ah, I must say I didn't think you'd be a tabloid reader," he replied. "You know that's the same old publication that would have you believe the Queen is a frivolous drunk."

"Yeah, while using the gossip column as a news outlet can be  _very_  interesting," she laughed, scouting out a cotton bandage roll from the first aid kit below the sink and setting it aside. "I'm also just….good at reading people."

She wasn't lying - he could tell that much as he watched her eyes decipher the current situation. It scared him on some level to think that she might understand him more than she was letting on, but the soothing movement of her touch as she tended to his hand made his insecurity a little easier to ignore - at least for  _now._

"There," she said softly as she looked up for a sign of validation. "Better?"

"Thank you," he nodded as he regained some sense, his eyes falling carefully on the way her fingers and the bandage curled gently around his hand. "But you know you don't have to do that."

"I don't mind," she assured him. "After all, this is kind of indirectly my fault."

"It wasn't," he disagreed. "I just didn't….well, you shouldn't have to deal with Gideon Gold - and I guess the idea of being a gentleman lead me to being a bit rash."

"Oh, so  _now_  you're a gentleman," she smiled, looking down at his wrapped knuckles. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he grinned in return. "But I guess I haven't proved that much in the past."

Killian bit his lip as her smile shifted to a smirk, the feel of his teeth on the minor wound reminding him that his choice was a bad one.  _The past,_  he thought briefly - did they even  _have_  one of those? Their interactions up to this point hadn't been totally honest or all that coordinated, but it was still something.

He wondered quietly if she felt that way too.

"It's okay," she said after a moment. "But for future reference, I can take care of myself you know."

"I suppose I should have recognized that."

"Well, in your defense, we don't exactly know each other," she replied, shaking her head immediately. "I  _mean,_  we don't really-"

"Aye," he cut in with a smirk. "I should apologize for that too."

"For the balcony or for bumping into me?"

"Both," he shrugged. "Not my finest moments."

"Or….mine, I guess," she told him. "But maybe, we should just….start over?"

"Hmmm," he sighed, lowering his hand. "How's that?"

He was having a hell of a time not staring at her. Her hair hung loosely in waves that shifted on her shoulders each time she moved and the constantly changing expression on her face kept him guessing despite the throbbing in his rattled skull. This wasn't the first time he'd noticed how beautiful she was, but the close proximity they'd now found themselves in seemed to magnify this attraction he had to her. Starting over was probably the best offer he could hope for given their rather odd beginning and he waited to hear just how she planned on initiating that, his gaze analyzing the curve of her lips in the meantime.

"Emma Nolan," she said with a rather adorable half smile. "Nice to meet you, Your Highness."

He grinned slowly, the slight stretch of his lower lip testing the scar that was likely forming there from the last battle with Gideon. There was something so casually innocent and sweet about her actually offering a real introduction that he couldn't help but play right into it.

"Aye, a pleasure, lass-" he countered, slightly raising his eyebrow. "-and Killian will do."

"Okay then-" she finally conceded. "- _Killian."_

Her eyes were even more green than he'd originally concluded, the deep emerald hue of them paired with a hint of forgiveness he truly hadn't earned. The pain brought on by his recent conflict in the bar seemed to fade ever so slightly as he held her gaze with a fascination he didn't understand. There was something about her - something so guarded and beautifully hidden in her eyes - and he let a goal of unmasking it form in his weary mind. The fact that she'd be gone soon prodded him and he felt his shoulders shrink with the cruelty of that knowledge.

Why had he wasted so much time? Why had he been avoiding this?  _Why_  in the bloody  _hell_  did she captivate him in such a vexing way?

"God,  _there_  you are," Arthur gasped, his sudden presence causing their staring contest to lapse. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah….yes - fine," Killian answered, trying to pick the right words. "Look, I didn't know he would….I'm sor-"

"It's alright, Killian - that wasn't you," Arthur assured him, looking toward Emma curiously before resuming his breathless speech. "Glad you're fixed up. Can you stand?"

"Aye-"

"Okay, good….and I hate to add insult to literal injury, but while that wasn't pretty, things are about to get a lot worse," Arthur warned, his eyes anxious and filled with concern. "Your brother is on his way. We need to get you out of here."


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I truly apologize that this chapter took so long to publish. Life really got the best of me the past few weeks. Enjoy - and the next chapter is where the fun really begins! :]

Emma awoke at an almost embarrassing hour the next day, the clock on her phone lighting up with an obnoxious glow that announced the time to be almost half past eleven. She'd never really been much of an early riser - well, at least not once she was allowed to break the prompt routines of living in the house of a regimented military linked father - but sleeping late as a guest in one of the most prominent buildings in the country and maybe even the world made her feel a bit guilty. Her parents had departed for the seaside Navy base in Plymouth just after dawn, getting an early jump on the flight that would take a little over an hour via royal helicopter. They'd been courteous enough to not wake her before leaving - a gesture she was most grateful for given the fitful sleep she'd battled without victory until about three that morning - and though she wouldn't see them for a couple of days, Emma was somewhat glad to have a break from her mother's particularly watchful eye.

If anything, their absence meant she wouldn't be questioned about her whereabouts the previous night. That was, of course, supposing that they'd noticed she'd been out late - and god, she could only  _pray_  that they hadn't.

The events of the recent evening were a bit hazy she realized as her head lay flat against a very fluffy pillow. She wasn't sure if that was by her own need to block some or well,  _most_  of it out - but it was likely a combination of that and something else she certainly wasn't ready to analyze. The memory of a pair of clever yet troubled blue eyes slipped into her mind and she immediately shook the thought with a muffled huff. She didn't want to be thinking about that or him right now - at least not until she could find a strong cup of coffee and recall exactly what had been said.

_Maybe we should just start over?_

Emma was rather certain those had been her nervous words - almost as certain as she was that the smirk of the man she'd made that offer to was probably the most handsome one she'd ever seen. The hope that had filled his very symmetrical features had been unexpected and when he'd reminded her once again of the name he preferred her to address him with, her pulse had thumped hard several times in a row.

_Killian will do._

How in the hell she'd ended up post bar battle with a beat up Prince of Wales was  _still_  beyond her. It seemed like the stuff from some curious fiction story or a cheesy romantic comedy, but it couldn't be - mostly because there was nothing romantic about her bantering and bandaging scene with a man who was more than just superior. He was  _royal_ …and  _she_  was Emma Nolan. There was nothing complicated about that.

Choosing to go to her newfound safe place posing as a pub on some corner wasn't a decision meant to reignite some rivalry she still knew little about. They hadn't talked much about it and it wasn't like she'd been given long to prod him into elaborating. The news that Killian's older brother - a guy Emma hadn't gotten to know very well yet and also the actual heir to the  _freaking_  throne - was minutes away from the bar had cut into their short conversation. Killian had almost leapt from the chair she'd nudged him toward, steadying himself with a quick clutch of the wooden countertop and a gruff groan. It was that reaction that had tempted her to help him once more in the form of one simple solution she still couldn't believe she'd provided him with.

" _You…should go."_

" _It's okay, lass. You were kind enough to deal with me after…all this. I can deal with my brother."_

" _This wasn't your fault though…and won't he be mad?"_

" _Well, I suppose it's likely-"_

" _Then go - and I'll…I'll cover for you."_

Sitting up against the lavish headboard of the giant bed, Emma ran her hands over her tired eyes and back through her tangled hair.  _Why_  had she given him an out? It wasn't like she was… _totally_  responsible for how the night had unfolded, but for some reason, the sight of his apparent panic and the way he'd glanced toward the only exit with obvious unease made her believe she was more than partly to blame.

For some reason, it was that thought that started her conversation with the prince who stormed into The Round Table only minutes after the younger prince had bolted out the back door. The encounter with Liam hadn't been as shock worthy as the one she'd torpedoed into with his brother, but Emma quickly found it was still a bit unsettling to explain some very strange circumstances to the man who'd one day rule the a large part of the free world.

" _I should apologize, Emma - for whatever happened here. My little brother can be….difficult."_

" _Actually, this….wasn't his fault."_

His eyes had gone wide at the hint of her explanation and it didn't take long for Emma to realize that Liam was rather used to making excuses for his sibling's actions. He did, however, seem very unaccustomed to the idea that Killian wasn't actually to blame. The observation made her heart sink slightly as she wondered just what sort of events in the two men's lives had led them to the default setting of Killian being the impulsive prince while Liam became the righteous one.

" _I suppose I should be happy he was here for once - well, not for the fight, but to help you, I mean."_

" _Yeah, uh, I guess…"_

" _I hope that didn't come across the wrong way, lass. You don't exactly strike me as someone who needs saving. I just meant it's nice to have an ally at times."_

She'd seen a flicker of subtle pride in his eyes then - the look of a man who clearly knew his reckless yet courageous younger brother was a good man. There definitely had to be a history reminding Liam to keep that look concealed much of the time and though Emma was extremely curious about what events made him so cautious, she knew it wasn't her business.

Making him recognize the fact that Killian had actually done the honorable thing probably wasn't either - but somehow, that didn't stop her.

" _I'm sorry you had to come down here. It's late…and-"_

" _It's okay, lass. I was actually pondering stopping by the bar when I saw the blurry picture someone took of my brother pop up online. I haven't seen Arthur for a few days and I'd told him I'd be in for a drink one night this week. Just my luck I'd pick the same evening all of this went down."_

" _I don't think he planned it this way - Killian, I mean. It didn't seem like he was looking to make trouble."_

" _Well, that's refreshing to hear actually. Coming here isn't exactly a rarity for him. He's always been close with Arthur, but I think there's more to it than just that."_

Emma knew what Liam really meant. The bar was a safe space for Killian, a place where he wasn't just a spare or even a proper prince. No, The Round Table was one of the only locations where he could be an average patron - where he could be  _normal_. She could understand that need on some level and the way their common ground led her to defending the wayward royal in a conversation with his older brother wasn't totally surprising, even if it sure as hell wasn't the interaction she'd  _ever_  imagined having with Liam.

" _Thank you, Emma - for handling this whole thing so gracefully. I know it's definitely not what you bargained for and surely not the type of atmosphere you'd meant to find while escaping to the pub on the corner."_

" _Yeah, not really…but it's okay. I'm glad I could help."_

" _As am I, even though this stuff with Killian isn't your mess. I'm grateful you were here and I'm sure he is too."_

The chat she'd wandered into with the kind Navy captain replayed endlessly in her mind as the morning carried on. Emma fought the distraction the two brothers were creating in her head all through breakfast in one of the smaller dining rooms. She'd even turned to an unlikely reading of two of the university pamphlets Liam had given her when the vast palace menu couldn't keep her mind busy enough. Emma had tried desperately to absorb the histories and summarized highlights each document offered - the bold photographs on the Cambridge one a stark contrast to the deep blue text on the Oxford brochure - but she knew she could no more avoid thinking about the two princes than she could stop rereading the same sentence from one of the chancellor's messages.

Truly, it was the image of Killian that kept her pulse thumping in her ears as she skimmed the glossy folded paper. He'd left so suddenly, his plan for an escape and transportation unclear to her as he vanished into the darkness. She had tried not to worry during her own late night ride back to Buckingham, but the younger prince hadn't exactly been in the best condition when he departed. The memory of his deep blue eyes burned in her mind, the sight of the one beginning to bruise making her press her lips together as she tried to finish the light morning meal the palace staff had provided her with.

Maybe he was thankful for her intervening and she allowed herself to envision how that gratitude might be displayed on his likely smirking face. She hated to admit it, but she kind of  _liked_  that smirk - smug as it probably could be - and the idea of hearing a thank you from him made her smile briefly against the brim of her porcelain cup. She wondered what route would be best as the memory of his injuries and shaky voice played in her mind again.

Would it be wise to  _try_  to find him - to give him the chance to address her act of odd kindness? Would it be better to avoid him and pretend the night didn't happen? Her options bounced back and forth from one side of her brain multiple times as she soaked in the early afternoon sunlight.

What  _did_  he want from her - and  _why_  did she feel the strange desire to figure that out?

Her contemplation didn't cease as she attempted to read on the cozy armchair in the corner of her room. With a roll of her eyes, she accepted the failed attempt at distraction and deposited the novel back on the antique nightstand while a curious plan formed in her mind. Pulling a soft sweater from her still packed suitcase, Emma realized that battling her need for reassurance regarding a certain royal was futile. It was obvious now that staying cooped up in a lone wing of the palace all day just might drive her crazy and as she glanced out the large window overlooking the freshly cut lawn, she decided that perhaps she could manage to entertain herself for an afternoon.

After all, the building she was currently confined to had well over seven hundred rooms - there  _had_  to be something interesting to discover in one or two of them.

###### 

"This feels-" Arthur decided, glancing down at his hot metallic thermos. "-wrong."

Killian grinned both in agreement and amusement as he leaned back against the hard stone barrier. The low wall crafted out of cement and cobblestones didn't serve much of a purpose truly, especially since so much of the large garden surrounding the backside of Kensington Palace was already quite secluded. It was, however, a boundary line that he and Arthur knew very well. It was a marker of their childhood - the stopping point that had outlined the spring and summer playdates Katherine had insisted they have as boys. The path the makeshift fence took was where they'd been allowed to venture to, but only with the warning that going beyond it was possibly dangerous and therefore not an option. The hazard of doing so didn't come from any threat of getting lost or kidnapped or even the unlikely chance that one of them might tumble into the slowly moving stream that curved around the property. No, Killian knew his mother's fears regarding safety were centered around what perils the paparazzi and their incessant need to know might create. She'd never been given a chance to have the average maternal worries about her sons and somehow, she had always managed to endure that burden with the utmost grace.

She'd been right to take whatever caution she could though - and Killian had spent a lot of years regretting the fact that he'd never told her how grateful he was for that. Of course, he had been far too young when she was taken so tragically and his ability to predict such a disastrous outcome wasn't exactly up to par yet.

Something lingering deep within his soul made him believe she would forgive him for that - even if he'd never fully forgive himself.

"Well, I believe it was  _you_  that insisted on this uncharacteristically early meeting, mate," Killian reminded him with a raised brow. "But, I've got to agree - the coffee kinda sucks."

"It's not  _that_  bad," Arthur scoffed. "Though I think we'd both prefer something stronger given the circumstances, I suppose I understand your brother's decision to discourage that for now."

Pursing his lips in frustration, Killian gave a reluctant nod. Honestly, he was still trying to figure out just how he'd received such a mild form of Liam's stern wrath the night before. It had been late when he finally arrived back at the Kensington grounds, the place he hadn't been much lately and therefore his choice for hiding out. His avoidance plan had been squandered shortly after he located an ice pack for his battered eye when his older brother had walked calmly through the Nottingham Cottage's front door with little more than a tired frown. Killian had been in minor pain, yes, but bracing for the speech he had been  _sure_  Liam would give him was a necessary task. Staring off toward the water flowing smoothly down the shallow river bed now, Killian silently recalled the short exchange they'd had and the way relief had flowed through his body when the man he often angered had only interrogated him briefly about the repeat performance at the bar.

" _You've looked worse, brother, but is it fair to assume you're okay?"_

" _Aye - fine…but I doubt that's what you're wanting to hear."_

It wasn't yelling or judgement that followed, but instead Liam had offered him an understanding. He'd told him about what basic details he learned once he'd arrived at The Round Table and as Killian observed his brother's willingness to listen, he was almost sure his cousin wasn't the true source of Liam's unexpected calmness.

It was perplexing at first, especially since the mental state the fight had left him in didn't leave much room for clarity. The pieces slowly shifted into place as his brother talked and it didn't take long for Killian to face exactly what emotions he likely deserved - total embarrassment and the strangest sense of confusion.

" _I know it wasn't your fault."_

" _You…do?"_

" _Yeah, I spoke to the admiral's daughter and for what it's worth, I'm glad you were there tonight - even if I still don't approve of your methods. She was…fortunate to run into you. At least, she seemed to think so when we spoke I'm guessing shortly after you left."_

Killian's mind still reeled at the knowledge that the girl captivating his every thought had followed through on the assurance she had given him just after bandaging his injury. He hadn't expected that - her probably impulsive promise or the realization that she'd upheld her end of a deal he didn't deserve. Hell, he hadn't expected to  _ever_  encounter kindness like that after acting the way he had and the fact that she'd been so quick to gift him with it was something he was still attempting to decipher.

 _Emma,_  he thought with his pulse pounding in his ears. Why had she insisted on helping him after his blatant stupidity? Why had she  _ever_  deemed him worthy of such selfless treatment? Killian was quite sure that the majority of the time, he wasn't worth it - so why did  _she_  appear to think he was?

He'd been trying not to think about it -  _or_  the meeting he was supposed to have with his father in a few hours - and failing miserably. Addressing the man who'd requested the mysterious chance to chat wasn't something Killian felt ready to face, but he knew it wasn't avoidable. He'd certainly been struggling with deflection lately and making another attempt at it wasn't something his dad would likely be cool with.

"Suppose you're right," he replied, shaking off his distraction before glancing in Arthur's direction. "Liam's always been one to heed to logic…doesn't mean I have to like it though."

"Fair enough," his cousin grinned as he closed the lid on the mediocre beverage. "Let's discuss other matters then?"

"Mmmm," Killian hummed. "Such as?"

"Well," the bartending man started, folding his arms in waiting. "We could start with you telling me what was  _really_  going on last night."

Uncertainty settled in Killian's posture as his shoulders stiffened. The cause of the fight wasn't hard to put together, but how the hell was he supposed to explain the workings of the back room scene Arthur had stumbled in on the night before? Killian didn't understand much of what had went on himself. He didn't understand how they'd managed to collide so spontaneously once again, and he definitely couldn't comprehend what it all meant  _or_  why this mysterious girl was starting to mean something to him. Maybe it was the unknown - the fact that she wasn't one of the foreign princesses he'd likely be coaxed into courting one day and she wasn't one of the royalty worshipping women he could sweet talk into a night or even a weekend of far too much elicit fun.

No, Emma was different. She wasn't obligated to tolerate his presence and something told him she didn't really give a damn about the status he held. There was more to her than he'd seen so far and while a desire to know just who she was continued to pull him in like a magnet, now wasn't the time to mention that to his curious cousin.

"I think we both know I don't really see eye to eye with Gideon Gold," Killian deflected. "I apologize that you and the rest of the bar had to witness that again though."

"We both know that's not what I'm talking about," Arthur said with an intention of redirecting the conversation. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you know her - the blonde lass."

He should have figured this was coming. Arthur had been flustered when he'd walked into the office Killian had been sent to in his beat up condition, but he'd still picked up on the clear fact that the admiral's daughter wasn't a stranger. His cousin had never been one to misinterpret the obvious and that instance had been no different.

 _Dammit_ , Killian thought with a bite to his bottom lip. He wasn't going to be able to talk his vague way out of this one.

"Kind of I suppose," he answered cautiously. "Her family is the one staying at Buckingham so we've…crossed paths."

"Hmmm," Arthur mused. "More than once I'm assuming?"

"What's leading you to that conclusion?"

"Well, she was quite quick to assist you after you took that rather solid right hook."

" _Left_  hook actually-" he disputed, ignoring the explanation. "-and it wasn't  _that_  square."

"That's not my point, mate," Arthur countered. "What I'm wondering is why -  _why_  was she so fast to act as your savior?"

Killian let out a jagged exhale as he tried to summon an answer he didn't have. He didn't know why Emma had done what she'd done and while a part of him hoped that  _maybe_  it was because she cared for him….well, it was highly likely she didn't.

After all, they didn't  _actually_  know each other - and she sure as hell didn't owe him anything.

"I believe it was at Ruby's behest," Killian said, glad that his answer wasn't a total lie. "She was quite adamant about helping you out front and thought it best to avoid drawing attention I guess. Plus, you and I both know Rubes has never been one to willingly patch me up, at least not without a hell of a lecture."

"While I did appreciate her shuffling you out of the way, I'm not an idiot, Killian," Arthur told him, tapping the lid of his lukewarm coffee holder. "There's more to it than that, but…I've just…gotta remind you-"

"Ah, how I enjoy your ominous warnings," Killian interrupted with a sigh. "Remind me of what, mate?"

"She's not just some tourist," the man replied with a careful tone. "Her father, he's…"

"Liam's new admiral - I know."

Killian let the avoided reminder of where Emma fit in test his thoughts again, his stomach sinking a bit in repeated reminder. He'd wanted to forget - even just for a  _moment_  - that she wasn't a part of such a complex world. It wasn't right to pretend that her status in his life would ever be less than complicated, but it was still an idea he'd let himself believe a few times. Soon enough, she might fade into the background as a simple acquaintance he only had due to her father's promotion. It wouldn't be long until she was little more than a distant accessory to his resumed royal life.

So why was he suddenly not okay with that? It was what was meant to happen - the only thing that  _could_  happen - but why did he feel this need to prevent losing the small presence she offered?

"But you don't seem to care about that, Killian," Arthur deduced. "Which I must say is sort of worries me."

A mutual concern swelled within Killian's chest, the conflict of possibility and prevention raging in his head as his cousin spoke. It worried him too - the fact that he  _did_  care. He cared more than he should and in ways he shouldn't. The whole thing almost scared him on some level, but he couldn't tell Arthur that.

He couldn't tell  _anyone_  that.

"I care plenty," he admitted. "So don't worry about that."

"Hmmm, guess I'll do my best not to - but be careful. Her father's acceptance of this position in the Navy means a lot to Liam so just…don't screw this up, okay?"

It wasn't an unfair request, especially since Arthur had witnessed a fair amount of his blunders lately. Killian had always held a monopoly on regal mistakes and this was one occasion he truly couldn't afford to mess up. This whole thing was a great deal to his brother and likely the rest of the royal house, but most of all, he knew it probably meant a lot to Emma - and he wouldn't ruin this for her or her family. From what he'd gathered, they'd been through enough already without him adding to the shakeup their lives were surely withstanding.

"Aye," Killian acquiesced. "So I suppose that means I won't be around the pub much for a while."

"Well," Arthur said, not meeting his stare as a steady smile spread over his face. "In that case, I suppose she might not either."

Killian huffed at the comment, downing what was left of his subpar beverage. It was a taunt perhaps - the conclusion that this perplexing girl might not return to the bar Liam had asked him to avoid for the time being. Killian knew it wasn't like she'd gone there initially to see him and despite how the evening had evolved, it was quite unlikely that she could be anxious to see him again. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that  _he_  wanted to see  _her_ , even if he didn't totally know why.

 _To say thank you,_  he quietly decided. Yes, gratitude was in order - and that was the only reason he could  _possibly_  have for needing to find out where she might be.

###### 

Walking down the painting lined hallway, Emma smoothed her hair back and pulled her fingers through the wavy tendrils. It was strange to think that her family had spent nearly a week at one of the most legendary buildings in Europe and she had seen little beyond her borrowed bedroom and the handful of dining spaces they had frequented. Her navigation of the outside grounds was less limited. She'd traversed a few of the garden walkways more than once and returned to the bench near the pond a few times. It had only been a few sunrises ago that she'd found a new quiet corner to have her morning coffee - a seat courtesy of a brick ledge that fenced off a plot of white flowers that had just begun to bloom. There was something calm about being in the midst of new nature and Emma had been allowing herself to enjoy the floral view there the past few mornings.

Today was different though. She was alone in the palace - well, aside from the dozens of staff milling about. Her parents had made it to the coast hours ago and were likely in the honorable company of Liam as well as the rest of the high ranking officers. The trip was one that even the Queen had opted to make, a fact that made Emma conclude she was likely the only person who remained behind. Her father's promotion had made quite the splash and it made sense that the royals who had connections to the Navy would want to offer their support at the coastal base.

She was happy he'd found his niche again, but part of her resented the fact that the work had taken him to the waterside while she sat cooped up behind the grand walls of Buckingham. It wasn't fair to feel that way and she scolded herself for it once again as she walked.

Emma bit her lip as she peered toward an elaborate oil painting of a past king cloaked in red and blue. She paused her feet as she took note of how unique the piece seemed to be in this particular corridor. Most of what she'd observed since starting down the hallway were works with a maritime theme - broad brush strokes that pulled together paintings of Navy ships and respected sailors who'd honored the country and the royal family. This man didn't seem to fit the bill she'd grown accustomed to though. She wondered quietly who it was that was captured with such valor in the portrait as her mind flickered to the realization that there was one royal who was as out of place as the ruler trapped in the artwork.

Emma let her gaze linger on the picture for perhaps a little too long as she realized how ironic it was that she'd managed to find this painting in a similar manner to how she'd encountered the dark haired prince - aimlessly but somehow fortunately. Well,  _maybe_  anyway. She still had yet to settle on what those multiple meetings meant.

That familiar moniker crossed her mind as she reminded herself to later research the red haired man on the canvas with the prideful crown and royal uniform.  _Killian_ , she thought as she started walking again. She had no clue where he was now, but for some reason, she was almost sure his destination was not the one she was currently exploring.

Her exploration led her to a few previously discovered locations in the palace - the most secluded path through the rows of flowers she'd wandered most nights and to the quiet courtyard where she had first unknowingly met the acquaintance of the infamous spare to the heir. She hadn't been aware of his identity during that conversation, but it hadn't kept her from feeling an odd connection with him.

She was still trying to sort out if perhaps he felt it too - and honestly, for  _some_  reason, she kind of hoped he did.

The threat of an afternoon storm eventually coaxed her back inside, her unshakeable need to learn more about the palace taking her to an almost concealed door at the opposite end of the building. The appearance of the long hallway she ended up in mirrored that of the one containing her temporary room, but it held a hint of formality that tempted her toward the various rooms at the end of the corridor. It didn't take long to realize that she'd made her to a wing of Buckingham that was more businesslike than the rest, especially once she entered a well-lit space that appeared to act as a office. Deciding who it likely belonged to was a task that might take more effort and as Emma closed the door just a bit, she took a deep breath at the prospect of some casual snooping.

The room was truly beautiful, everything from the red draped windows to the packed bookshelves agreeing with that opinion. A large mahogany desk sat adjacent to the glass panes and its immaculate state was marred only by a pair of elegant pens, an engraved wood box, and a couple of parchment envelopes. To the side of the writing surface, there was a freestanding globe suspended by brushed gold framework. An armchair and a dark leather couch made up the rest of her comfortable surroundings as she wondered just who owned the solitude suggested by the space.

Peeking toward a distant shelf, her eyes narrowed as they fell upon a picture frame. Emma couldn't help the way her fingers skimmed the front of it as she noticed who was preserved in the photograph.

 _Princess Katherine,_  she thought with a small smile battling the ache her heart suddenly felt.

The picture didn't seem like it could be a popular image. It wasn't a portrait or a formal photograph of any sort, but rather a simple snapshot that didn't explain much other than she'd clearly been happy at the time it was taken. The carefree grin on her face was contagious and Emma's mind processed the dozens of details with a pure desire to understand. She truly was stunning and the captured view of her proved that on so many levels - the way her dark hair hung in wavy curls and how at ease she looked in a simple floral sundress with tiny white flowers creating an elegant appearance. An elated laugh seemed to linger on the woman's lips as life filled her eyes, their deep cobalt hue instantly reminding Emma of another familiar gaze.

 _Of course he looked like her,_  she noted as her mind moved to Killian. The train of thought wasn't intentional, but she couldn't help it as she compared the features of the lost woman to those of the man she'd been unable to shake. It was almost like admiration and her will to fight it was fading fast as she wondered what could be making the princess display such a happy expression.

Her sons were likely the cause of her smiling reaction, a determination Emma settled on as she briefly noticed the two young princes in the photograph. They were young, both of them dressed for summer in tailored shorts and pressed polo shirts. It was easy to see just how much love existed between the three of them as she observed the scene captured by a casual camera and Emma tried to will away the conclusion that pictures like this one were rare - especially since the princess had likely passed only a short time after the snapshot was taken.

 _They must miss her terribly,_  Emma thought as a slight frown landed on her lips.

"Can I help you, miss-," a voice suddenly said. "Oh…Emma."

With her hands freezing fast, Emma's head turned sideways to meet the tone sounding from the doorway. The lilt hinging on the curious greeting was a bit sharper than that of the other prince she'd been reminiscing only moments earlier. Her eyes quickly made out the shape of the man who'd located her, but it took a second for her to fully process just who had caught her in full fledged investigation.

"Oh, your,  _uh_ ….highness…."

He smiled at that, subtle lines framing his smile as her nervousness built quickly. The details soon fell into awkward place as she deduced what room they were in. This was  _his_  office - the immaculate and professional headquarters of Prince Brennan.

"There's truly no need for formality," he reminded her, scratching at his stubbled cheek the way his youngest son often did. "After all, it appears I'm the one lacking properness. I apologize you've yet to be offered a tour."

Emma blushed with embarrassment, noting he clearly wasn't upset that she'd wandered into what might be a rather off limits place. Given the photograph gracing the shelf, it was probable that he preferred to keep his office private, but he didn't seem mad that she was there. No, he seemed more curious than anything and she silently thanked some higher power that he was perhaps amused by her line crossing.

"I didn't mean to….well, end up here," she attempted with a guilty and very weak smile. "I didn't know-"

"It's okay," he assured her. "I guess this part of the palace warrants a little attention, especially since it's the one area many guests leave unexplored. I only wish you'd been fortunate enough to find something besides the dusty desk of this abandoned study. The office where my mother pens her letters is far more interesting."

Emma breathed a steady laugh at that, catching the little nickname he'd chosen to tag onto the end of his words. They all called her that - the royals and the help alike. She wondered if it was a cultural thing or just a little quirk the two princes had picked up from their father.

"I'm sorry you've been on your own a bit here," he said sympathetically. "This new assignment of your father's can be…well, let's just say I know that the demands required for a high ranking Navy man aren't exactly simple."

There was something kind about his comment and Emma wondered why he'd chosen to offer it. The oldest heir had definitely once known a militant lifestyle like her father's and it was apparent in his uneasy state that he'd had a hard time letting it go. It made her sad almost as she watched him pause with a half smile.

"You know, I'd wager there are very few people who understand and own the ability to put up with that as well as she did."

Emma was so preoccupied with noticing how he'd passed on parts of his appearance to his sons - the obviousness so easy to see despite his silvered hair and tired eyes - that she almost missed his nod toward the photograph she'd picked up. With her grip holding steady on the intricate frame, she tried to convince herself to put it down.

"She was truly the picture of patience," he told her with a reminiscing smile. "With everyone I suppose - not just me."

"With…them too?"

The question was perhaps too forward, but the prince gave no indication of that as he arrived at her side. His focus was firmly on the memory of his departed wife and Emma wondered just how deep the pain of that loss ran.

" _Definitely_  with them," he nodded. "Especially-"

 _Killian_ , she thought instantly as his voice trailed off. Her heart ached at the idea - the thought that Katherine was the one who understood the prince she currently felt so perplexed by. They likely had an amazing mother and son bond once, but Katherine had died almost fifteen years earlier.

Maybe he'd somehow been alone after that. He'd had everything a person could dream of, but no one to understand why he wanted very little of any of it. At least, that's the impression she had gotten thus far - and it pained her in the strangest way.

"She always seemed to get him in ways I've never managed to," he sighed. "A fault of my own, I must admit."

Emma knew that regret all too well - the one that came from a strained relationship with a struggling parent. She'd been down that rocky road with her mother first and even her father once or twice, but something told her that her past in that area was not quite as troubled as that of the youngest prince.

"He's a good lad - well,  _man_  now," Brennan chuckled. "He gets much of that from her."

"But some from you too, I think," Emma commented. "If it's not too bold to say."

"Maybe," the man smiled. "But Killian's always been more of a Spencer than anything else."

She watched in silence as he studied the picture, knowing by the glint of sadness in his stare that he likely looked at it often. It was in that moment that Emma realized how much she truly wanted to know as questions flooded her thoughts. She wanted to ask about the dark haired woman who had radiated beauty and compassion constantly until her life was stolen. She wanted to know how she'd met the heir with the loving eyes who clearly still adored her. Dozens of inquiries sat on the end of her tongue - ones about who Katherine had been as before the royal spotlight and ones about what she'd been like as a mother to a pair of young boys. Emma's sudden curiosity was prodding, but she kept her wondering at bay with only one conclusion in mind.

It wouldn't be fair to interrogate him. It would be wrong to drag up memories that still seemed to haunt him.

"Anyway, I'm glad I managed to run into you," Brennan said, watching her return the frame to the shelf. "One of the servers mentioned you left these."

She was nothing short of startled when he held up the handful of prospective education brochures. Emma tried to keep embarrassment from warming her face as she took the documents carefully, glancing again at the cover of the top one - the information about Trinity College almost taunting her.

"Forgive the biased organization if you will, but I've still got a little loyalty for my alma mater. Does this mean you won't be returning to Columbia?"

"Well, I'm…not sure," she managed to answer. "I guess I haven't thought much about it since…"

Her voice was lost to an awkward silence as she chose not to complete her reply. Brennan offered her a knowing smile as he glanced down at the glossy documents again. Emma wasn't really sure how much the man knew about her, but he had obviously deduced that she'd moved back to England in the wake of her father's accident and that the aftermath of that day was what kept her from returning to New York. It had become her obligation to stay - for lack of a better description - and that was something a prince in line for the throne could likely empathize.

"I know your father is quite grateful for your help these past few months, Emma," Brennan mentioned. "But I like to think I know David well enough to assure you that he'd never want you to give up on your dream so he can reclaim his."

He wasn't wrong. Emma had spoken to her father about that in several tones many times since he'd started healing. She was slowly becoming aware that this wasn't the expectation - it was  _her_  method of deflection.

"I know," she acknowledged, toying with the corner of the Cambridge pamphlet in the middle of the small stack. "I guess I just assumed that by the time I had the chance…well, that it might-"

"Be too late?"

With a slight nod, she held his gaze and waited for his countering words. Maybe he'd reaffirm that it wasn't impossible to go back -  _even_  if she didn't believe it.

"I like to think it's never too late to become exactly who you want to be," he told her. "Or at least so said Fitzgerald once - and if you're up to it, I'd be happy to make arrangements that could help you start to sort things out while you're in town."

Emma lift her eyebrow as she tried to discern what he could have meant by that. She hadn't planned on doing anything for herself or whatever vague future she had during her London stay, but it certainly seemed like quite a few people had an interest in helping her with that.

"Your highness, your appointment is on his way," a suddenly appearing palace employee announced from the doorway. "Shall I direct him down here?"

"That won't be necessary, Sebastian - one of the first floor staterooms should suffice," Brennan answered. "Let him know I'll be there shortly."

The man nodded and vanished back out into the corridor he'd traveled to find them, leaving Emma with little time to find clarification on what the eldest heir was hoping she would like to do while remaining a palace guest. Peering down at the college brochures again, she noticed his eyes already doing the same thing.

Dammit - of  _course_  that's what this was about.

"Assuming you may not be busy," the man started, his voice careful and questioning. "Perhaps I could interest you in joining us for a royal engagement tomorrow? There's a dedication scheduled for noon in honor of my mother and while it's not exactly what I believe the Americans call 'Ivy League', I am quite positive that Trinity's Wren Library would be honored to have you as company."

"Oh… _ummm,_  I…well, I guess-" Emma stammered. "-I wouldn't mind getting out for a bit. Is this you casually asking me to come hang out with you and the queen for an afternoon?"

"Ah, well, my mother is actually still away on that same Navy business that left you stranded here," he explained, tapping his fingers on the side of the shelf. "Smaller company tomorrow - just me and Cora…perhaps the boys too, if Liam happens to be back in decent time."

"Oh," Emma replied, trying to keep her wavering voice steady. "Both…of them?"

"Aye," Brennan nodded as he headed toward the door. "That's okay, I assume?"

Emma swallowed hard, attempting to keep her composure at the idea of being in close quarters with the two men she'd recently run into. She had been hoping to avoid them for the remainder of the trip. She'd been trying to tell herself that was for the best, but now, the large butterflies fluttering like mad in her stomach were telling her that maybe it wasn't. She couldn't be sure what the most fortunate outcome here would be, but she knew that being in a position to see them again - especially at the  _same_  time - was  _very_  far from okay.

"Yeah," she lied, feeling her feet fuse to the floor. "Sounds great."


End file.
